


Late v2

by AllmyotherOTPs



Series: Late [2]
Category: The Good Wife (TV)
Genre: 5x15 ugh, Alternate Universe, And love, Angst, F/M, I'll always be in denial, If that even exists, Infidelity, Mentions of Abortion, Mentions of miscarriage, Smut, Willicia - Freeform, alternate fanfiction universe, angsty love is willicia in a nutshell isn't it, bad timing, otp, star-crossed lovers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-07
Updated: 2021-01-21
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:42:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 28
Words: 82,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22603402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AllmyotherOTPs/pseuds/AllmyotherOTPs
Summary: Alicia and Will are late.This is the alternate version of Late - in which events take a very different turn.
Relationships: Alicia Florrick/Peter Florrick, Alicia Florrick/Will Gardner, Will Gardner/Giada Cabrini
Series: Late [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1626424
Comments: 261
Kudos: 162





	1. Day 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, when I wrote Late, I never intended for Alicia to actually be pregnant, I just wanted to fill in the gap left by the show regarding the email to her doctor about pregnancy tests. But I realized from your comments that many of you had expected me to write a pregnancy fic, and to be honest, I felt a bit bad about disappointing you. 
> 
> And you got me thinking. 
> 
> I realized that Late could have gone down on a different road. What if it had? And yep, here I am again. *lol* I guess "what if..." are the two words that are behind most of the fics on AO3.
> 
> So - this is how this going to work:  
> The first four chapters are identical to Late. I repost them here in case you haven't already read them. If you do, you can skip them if you wish. Chapter five, which is a mix of new and old content, is where things start to go off in a completely different direction.  
> I have no idea how far I'll take this fic, but do NOT expect it to turn into a happy pregnancy/childbirth/marriage fic, because it won't. I'm primarily interested in the first few weeks/months, and the dynamics between the characters. Because let's face it - this is going to mess them all up.

_**Him** _

They meet in Will’s apartment for lunch. Well, during lunch is probably more accurate.

“I’m losing weight because of you,” he groans in her ear as he takes her from behind in the shower. They’re already running late, which is why they decided to save time by showering together after. Turns out they won’t be saving any time after all.

“Oh yeah? Why is that? I haven’t really noticed,” she laughs, reaching one hand behind her, running a perfectly manicured nail along the side of his muscular chest.

“I never eat during lunch break anymore.”

“Well…” He can feel her chuckle ripple through her body. “I beg to differ.”

He sucks on that spot on her neck, just above her shoulder, the one he discovered back at Georgetown. As he feels her pussy contract around his cock in response, he fleetingly wonders if Peter ever discovered that spot. A part of him wants to suck harder, to mark her as his, so everyone – so _Peter_ – can see. Gritting his teeth, he makes himself let go before it’s too late.

“Well, I do eat,” he says, close to her ear, his voice low. He fucks her harder, the way he knows she likes. “But the calorie intake is low. With the high liquid content, and all this vigorous activity…” She can’t hold back a moan as he hits a particularly sensitive spot, “I think my calorie balance is negative.”

She gives him a slight push, and he slips out of her. She turns around, gasping for air, water dripping from her eyelashes. Her hair is wet, too. Which means she’ll run _very_ late, because she’ll need to dry it before she returns to the office.

She runs her tongue around the shell of his ear. “I want to see your face when you come,” she says, and his balls contract at the sound of her voice, dark and needy. That voice she only uses in bed. Fuck, he’s so close. Again. He’s 40 plus, not 20 - but with her, he can come twice in less than 20 minutes.

Quickly, he pulls her feet up around his waist, pressing her body against the wall as he enters her again. She’s so wet, he slips in without any resistance at all. He knows they’re running late, and he knows he’s going to come very soon, so he needs to speed things up a bit. He grabs her hips, tilting her pelvis slightly so her slick clit rubs against him at every thrust.

She rewards him with a grunt, and a “Yes… right… _there_ …” and he knows that she’s close too. He sees it from the way her eyes are starting to get glassy, from her half-open mouth. Hears it from the low growl deep in her throat. And then she starts to contract around him, and she brings him over the edge with her with the way her fingernails dig into the skin of his back.

She’s marking him, even though he doesn’t dare to mark her, is the last thought that goes through his mind as he comes and everything goes blank.

Finally, her legs slide down, to the floor. He sinks down on his knees in front of her, heaving for breath. His eyes are fixed on her pussy, where his cum is leaking out of her. She looks down at him, lifting an eyebrow. She knows that he loves this, loves seeing his cum on her body. “I need another shower to clean up after my shower,” she laughs, and he laughs, too.

“We need to hurry up,” he murmurs as he gets up, kissing her on the mouth.

She quickly rinses off, and steps out of the shower, drying herself with a towel. It’s soft, thick and luxurious – premium quality, like everything in his apartment. He grabs a towel for himself, too. “I don’t suppose you have a hair drier,” she asks him, looking at the disaster that is now her hair in the foggy mirror.

“As a matter of fact, I do.” He digs it out from the back of a drawer. It’s pink. And he’s had short hair for as long as she has known him.

“It’s not yours,” she says, raising an eyebrow, and it’s not a question.

“Someone may have left it here. A long time ago.”

“Right.” A smile is playing on her lips. “Who?”

He shrugs. “I don’t remember. Does it matter?”

If she thinks it’s weird to dry her hair using a hair drier that an ex left in his apartment, she doesn’t say anything about it. He leaves before her – they shouldn’t be seen coming back late from lunch, _together_ , and besides – there’s no point in both of them being an extra half hour late because of her hair.

He gives her a quick kiss on the shoulder before he leaves.

* * *

_**Her** _

She’s never been alone in his apartment before. After her hair finally looks decent, she allows herself thirty seconds of just standing in his living room before she leaves for work. Looking at this part of him that, until recently, she didn’t know anything about. It’s so very different from the dump he lived in at Georgetown.

But of course, that was a long time ago. It was millions of dollars ago, too, by the looks of it. And a very good interior designer.

She grabs his keys from the kitchen counter, and locks the door behind her. She’ll find a way to discreetly hand him the keys at the office. As she puts the keys into her handbag, half running on the way to the elevator, her fingers touch a tampon box, but she doesn’t have time to think about it.


	2. Day 2

**Her**

Her day is grueling. The case she’s working on is a hot mess – it was just dumped on her, the trial starts tomorrow, and she has a lot of catching up to do. Her lunch consists of a banana sometime around noon as she goes through a mountain of files, and she barely has time to think that today’s lunch is certainly very different from yesterday’s.

She doesn’t know what Will is doing – she hasn’t seen him all day, aside from a quick glimpse through the glass this morning. She doesn’t really have time to think about it.

At around two, his secretary knocks on her door. “Will would like to see you in his office, Alicia.”

“Sure.”

They’re not playing the angry boss-game they had going at the beginning of their affair. Sure, it was fun – at first. Their fights were effectively foreplay. But they were attracting too much attention, and they both realized they would eventually get in trouble if they continued on that path. Diane would have intervened on Alicia’s behalf, and they didn’t want her to start asking questions. So for now, they’re just trying to lay low.

She suspects that they’re failing miserably and that Diane already knows. And God knows who else.

“You wanted to see me?”

Will looks up from his computer. His face is perfectly neutral. She doesn’t know if he called her into his office for work, or if his motivation was something else entirely.

From the corner of her eye, she sees that his secretary is leaving her desk, heading for the elevator.

“Busy day?” He asks her.

“No time for lunch,” she says. “Just a banana.” Only as the words leave her mouth, does she realize how they could be misinterpreted. Not that she minds.

He raises an eyebrow. “Really?” Yep. Even though his voice is perfectly neutral, there’s no mistaking what he’s thinking about now.

She has to bite her lip to keep herself from laughing. “Really. Being a junior associate is hard work.”

“I'm sorry to hear that, but you know how it is.”

By now she’s pretty sure he didn’t call her into his office for work-related reasons. Or if he did, those reasons are not a priority anymore. “So I can’t help but notice that your secretary just left.”

“Yes, I asked her to buy me lunch.”

“So we have, what… 20 minutes?”

“Less, she’s annoyingly efficient. She’s only going to the deli on the corner to get me a sandwich. We have maybe 15 minutes.”

“You drive your employees too hard.”

“So I’ve heard.” He looks down at his computer, pretending to focus on the screen in case someone is watching them. “Go to my private bathroom. I’ll be there in a few minutes.” 

She leaves the door unlocked, and when he enters, he wastes no time in pressing her up against the wall. She gasps as she feels how hard he is for her already, and their lips meet as her hands tear at his shirt. When she finally succeeds in unbuttoning it, his skin feels like it’s burning under her fingers, and he gasps into her mouth at her touch.

“If you only knew all the things I’ve thought about doing to you today…” he whispers, his hands on either side of her head, holding her steady, forcing her to meet his eyes. “I’ve been so hard I could cut glass all day, I’ve barely dared to leave my desk. I haven’t been able to concentrate at all, I’ll I’ve been thinking about is you.”

“Me too,” she lies. It doesn’t matter. He’s probably lying too. Will Gardner is always efficient, always almost frighteningly focused. Even if he’s been thinking about fucking her from time to time, she’s sure he still got his job done, and done well at that.

She pulls down his pants, her hands roaming over his boxer briefs. He groans as her fingers lazily trace the outline of his cock through the thin fabric. She sinks down on her knees in front of him.

“Alicia…” He looks down at her, eyes wide, as he combs his fingers through her hair. When he says her name, so softly, there’s something in his voice she can’t quite place. Worship, or reverence, maybe. She licks her lips, and she sees that his pupils expand. Then she pulls down his boxer briefs too.

She hasn’t always liked giving head. With her first boyfriend, back in high school, she didn’t really feel comfortable doing it. She felt that it was expected of her, though, and figured it was something she could learn to like. Her experiences in college weren’t really much better – it wasn’t that she _hated_ it, she was just mostly indifferent - and the guys she was with weren’t always considerate. It wasn’t really until she met Peter that she started enjoying it. She found that she enjoyed coaxing reactions from him, enjoyed driving him to the very brink. She loved the power it gave her over him. So based on her prior experiences, she had supposed that oral sex was something she would only truly enjoy giving when she was in a stable, loving relationship based on trust.

She hadn’t thought she would ever be with another man again. Not until Peter betrayed her trust, shattering both her marriage and her family. Not until Will. To her surprise, on their very first night together, she felt a sudden, irresistible urge to go down on him. Even though they weren’t in a loving, trusting relationship at all – they had just agreed, after a number of tequilas, to fuck in a wildly expensive hotel room. For one hour.

Well, as it turned out, they fucked for quite a few hours. She only got home at 4 am that night, and Will didn’t make it into the office until noon.

Still, to her surprise, she discovered that first night that she not only enjoyed giving Will head – she loved doing it almost as much as he loved receiving it.

And he loves receiving it a _lot_.

She knows they don’t have long, so she doesn’t waste any time. She takes as much of him as she can in her mouth, not stopping until she feels that the head hits the back of her throat. He gasps, mutters something, she can’t quite hear what – she hears a “fuck”, and her name, and then she can’t make out the rest, but she guesses it’s filthy. She releases him momentarily, only long enough to lick the inside of her right hand, before she takes him in again. Pumping what she can’t take in her mouth with her right hand, while she fondles his balls with her left. He’s rock hard, and she can tell from the sounds he’s making that he won’t last long. She realizes he must’ve told the truth about needing to hide behind his desk most of the day. Suddenly, he pulls out, panting, and pulls her to her feet.

“I want you to come, too,” he groans in her ear, and he starts to pull up her skirt, roughly.

She chuckles. “We only have a few more minutes,” she whispers, gently, but firmly stopping his hands. She wants to say more. She wants to say that with the stressful day’s she’s having, it’s going to take a lot more than a few minutes for her to come. Even with him. And she wants to tell him that she doesn’t mind – right now, she just really wants him to watch him come. But they don’t have the time, so she doesn’t. “Please let me.” She pumps his cock with her slick hand. “Say okay,” she says.

It doesn't really seem like he's listening to what she's saying. “There’s nothing I love more than watching you come, hearing you, feeling you…” he says, his voice strangled. She feels his cock twitching in her hand, and knows he’s close. He _can’t_ come right now, all over her dress.

“And there’s a time for that – later,” she whispers in his ear. “But right now, I just need you to say… okay.”

“Okay,” he finally says between gritted teeth, and she gives him a final stroke with her hand before she sinks down on her knees again.

She barely has time to close her lips around him again before she realizes that he’s starting to come. His left hand is in her hair, but he never forces himself to go too deep, not even when he's coming, she knows she can trust him. He’s just holding her steady with a gentleness she’s never come across in anyone else before. His cum hits the back of her throat, and she concentrates on swallowing, fleetingly thinking that he said okay just in the nick of time – she has no idea how to explain away the mess he would’ve made of her dress if he hadn’t.

She swirls her tongue slowly along his slit as the last spasms go through his body. He’s panting hard, resting the back of his head against the door, his throat exposed. His eyes are closed. His left hand is still in her hair, gently massaging her svake. Lovingly, she realizes.

Not quite steady on her feet, she gets up. She knows he loves kissing her after. Peter never wanted that. But Will’s deep growl at the back of his throat as their kiss deepens lets her know just how much he likes to taste himself on her tongue.

“Alicia, you are…” he shakes his head in disbelief, struggling to catch his breath. His skin is flushed, there’s sweat on his forehead. “I’m going to make it up to you,” he says as he pulls up his boxer briefs.

“Oh yeah?” she whispers against his neck.

“Yeah,” he confirms. “That’s what I’ve been thinking about all day. Eating you out.” A shudder goes through her, as she feels another rush of wetness between her legs. “But I figured you might want to… wait three or four days.” She furrows her brow, not understanding. “I don’t mind,” he says, with a cocky grin. “In fact, I…” He kisses her neck. “…quite like it myself. But I know you don’t, so…”

It takes her a few seconds to understand what he means.

Oh.

So that’s what he thinks.

“Will, I’m… not on my period,” she tells him, blushing. She’s not sure if she’s blushing because she’s discussing her period with him - it’s not something they’ve talked about before - or if it’s because of what he just told her that he likes. It’s something she has never even considered doing before. But Will is more experienced than her, and - perhaps as a result - more adventurous. She usually doesn't mind, in fact - quite the contrary. But what he's suggesting is over the line. Maybe. “That’s not why I didn’t want to…”

“Really? I thought…” his voice trails off.

“Is that the only reason you could think of why I would turn you down?” She smiles.

“No, it’s because it’s been about a month since the last time you did. Well, 30 days, to be exact.”

“You’re keeping track of me?” She’s a bit taken aback. She doesn’t quite know what it means.

“Of course.” He smiles, and she can't help but smile back. She loves his relaxed, post-orgasmic smiles. He looks much younger than he is. Like he doesn’t have a worry in the world. Like he doesn’t carry the weight of a major law firm on his shoulders. Like he doesn’t worry about what would happen if anyone found out about them. If _Peter_ found out about them.

“I have to get out of here before your secretary comes back,” she says, quickly checking her reflection in the mirror, adjusting her hair and adding a layer of lipstick. “This was… fun,” she smiles, quickly kissing his lips. “I think you need to stay in here a bit longer,” she smirks. He’s a mess – he’s still breathing hard, his skin is flushed, and his clothes are in disarray.

She slips out of the bathroom, noticing – relieved – that his secretary isn’t back yet.

Safely in her office, she discreetly checks her period app.

_You are two days late._

She figures two days isn’t really that much, considering her current stress level.

Not that much at all, really.


	3. Day 3

**Her**

She sinks down on the couch with a glass of red wine in her hand. She’s had a terrible day. She got her ass kicked in court, and she’s spent the last six hours with Kalinda and Diane in Diane’s office, trying to figure out a strategy for tomorrow – but honestly, at this point, it’s only a question of which Hail Mary pass to pick. She barely had time to eat at work, and besides, she’s had a knot in her stomach all day. When she finally came home, the fridge was almost empty. Zach and Grace were fighting, and Jackie called. Twice.

Only now, after the children are finally in bed – or at least in their rooms - does she open Will’s texts. She hasn’t talked to him all day, she’s only seen him a couple of times through the glass walls of Diane’s office. He didn’t even glance in her direction, not once.

But her phone vibrated throughout the day. A lot. She didn’t open his texts at work. She knew that if he had wanted to discuss something job related, he would have just come into Diane’s office to talk to her, so she had been pretty sure he was sexting her. She usually sexts him back whenever she has the opportunity, but she’s been on edge all day, and she just couldn’t afford to be distracted. Not with this train wreck of a trial.

She takes a sip of wine, and opens her first unread text. Even though she’s exhausted, she can’t help but take a deep, somewhat shaky breath when she reads it.

_“I just saw you in Diane’s office. You looked so hot, I had to go to my bathroom to jerk off so I didn’t embarrass myself. While I pumped my cock, I thought about how much I love watching you cum. How much I love *being* the one that’s making you cum. And just before you cum for me, you make this sound, deep in your throat, and your pussy is so wet you are dripping, and your pussy flutters, ready to contract hard around my cock, my fingers, or my tongue.”_

She reads through all the sexts – he’s sent them in intervals throughout the day, probably in between meetings. He’s told her - in great detail – what he wants to do to her the next time they meet. It’s mainly about how he wants to eat her out. She’s never met a man who loves eating her out as much as Will does. She’s glad he doesn’t mention anything about blood, though, because she thinks that’s probably one sexual fantasy she won’t help him fulfill.

She looks at the time – 10:15 PM. She sighs. She’s exhausted, but still he manages to turn her on. He knows exactly which buttons to push, even from afar. She presses her thighs together. She’s wet, she can even smell her own arousal through her clothes. Damn you, Will Gardner, she thinks, but a smile is playing on her lips. She switches on the TV, wanting it to drown out her end of the conversation in case the children are still awake.

He picks up after the first ring.

“Hey.” Just the sound of his voice makes something deep in her belly tingle.

“Hey yourself.”

“Did you work late? I heard from Diane you had a rough day in court.”

“Yes, it was a nightmare.” She grimaces, and takes a sip of wine. “I just read some very interesting texts,” she continues. She doesn’t want to talk about the case she’s losing. It’s been on her mind all day.

“You did?” Even over the phone, she knows that he has his poker face on. Or rather: His lawyer face. The face he uses in court. She’s always loved observing him in court – admiring how amazingly skilled he is at putting on a show for the judge and the jury alike. How he uses not only his exceptional knowledge of the law but his voice, his face and even his body. Regardless of whether he’s telling the jury a true story or just the version of the story he wants them to hear, it’s always impressive. 

“Yes. Seems like my boss has a pretty dirty mind.” He chuckles on the other end of the line. “Has anyone ever told you you’re pretty damn good at writing smut?”

Now he outright laughs. “Really? You think I should quit my day job and embark on a more… creative career path?”

“Well, you’re pretty creative in your day job too, and being a name partner is probably more lucrative. Besides, I prefer not having to share your hidden talent with anyone.”

“Well, you’re not.” His voice is soft, and there’s something in it, something she can’t quite place, but it makes her hold her breath. She realizes she has inadvertently opened up the door to a potentially dangerous conversation.

There’s a long silence. “I missed you today,” he finally says, but his words don’t make the conversation any less dangerous.

“Seems like you only missed one part of me,” she teases. She needs to get them back to safer territory. To what they are, not to what they are not. It’s just an affair. That’s all. Her personal life is a mess – she has two children she’s trying very hard to be a good role model to, and she is _married_ \- to a powerful man who has hated Will’s guts for the better part of two decades and who wouldn’t hesitate to crush her lover professionally if he found out about them. And Will has probably fucked half the women in Chicago, and he’s been cheating on his girlfriends for about as long as he’s known him. 

And still you told him he didn’t have to wear condoms, she thinks, the knot in her stomach tightening.

“Oh, I can assure you I missed every single part of you today.” His voice is darker now. “Want me to tell you more about it?”

She hesitates. A part of her wants to say yes. Before she met him, she had never tried phone sex, and frankly, she didn’t really think she’d like it. It just seemed like a pale replacement for the real thing. But Will has a way with words. He can make her shiver in anticipation just by telling her what he’s doing, or how he wants her to touch herself.

She could do it. She could go into her room, lock the door, and allow his voice and her hand to make her tumble over the edge. Maybe it would release some of the tension in her shoulders.

But she’s also exhausted. And distracted. “Maybe some other time?” she says. “I’m not sure I’d be any fun tonight, I’m sorry. I’m half asleep already.”

“Tomorrow? Lunch?” He offers.

She sighs. “I’ve got court tomorrow too. This case is a bitch. I’m losing.”

“Well, Alicia, I hate to break it to you, but you’re a defense attorney. A lot of our clients are actually guilty. Losing cases is part of the game.”

Her client is admittedly guilty as sin. But that still doesn’t mean she likes to lose. “That’s a weird thing for my boss to say, isn’t it? That I shouldn’t care if I lose a case?” She teases him.

“I’m not saying you shouldn’t care. I’m just saying that even if you do everything perfectly, you’re going to lose sometimes, and you can’t let that destroy you. You won’t last long if you do. This job is hard enough as it is.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.” She bites her lip. “But Peter has the kids this weekend.” She’s pretty sure he knows that already. If he keeps track of her menstrual cycle, he sure as hell must keep track of which weekends she has the kids too. “My place?”

“Sure.”

She smiles, but doesn’t say anything. Neither does he. She’s pretty sure he must be smiling too. The silence between them is long, but not awkward. Will is the one who finally breaks the silence.

“Go to bed, Alicia. You sound like you’re beat. Get some sleep.”

She takes a shower before going to bed. She makes herself come. It’s gets there quickly, it only takes a couple of minutes. After, she struggles to catch her breath, resting her forehead against the cool tiles as the warm water runs over her body. She had hoped an orgasm would calm her, but finds that her mind is still racing.

With a thick towel wrapped around her body, she wipes the fog off the mirror, the circle just large enough to see her face. Her hair is wet, water dripping down on her shoulders. The mascara is smudged under her eyes, and she can clearly see the lines at the corners of her eyes, by her mouth, on her forehead.

It can’t be possible – can it? Surely she’s too old?

She goes back to the living room, still only wrapped in the towel, and picks up her phone. She opens her menstrual cycle app again, even though she already knows what it says.

“ _You are three days late.”_

Fuck.

She looks at the empty glass of wine on the table and closes her eyes.

 _Fuck_.

She rummages through her bathroom drawers, but realizes it must have been more than a decade since the last time she took a pregnancy test, and she probably threw away the long-expired tests during the move. She’s not even sure when the last time she used one was – her pregnancy scare about a year after Grace was born, perhaps? It turned out to be nothing. And after that, she had an IUD inserted. Ever since then, she’s had the IUD replaced when her OBGYN said it was time to have a new one, and she hasn’t really thought about birth control in the years in between. It was so easy, so convenient.

So when Will pulled out a condom from his wallet that night in the ridiculously expensive presidential suite, she just shook her head.

_“I’m clean,” she said. “And covered.”_

_“I’m clean too,” he answered. “So if you’re okay with it…”_

_“I’m okay with it.”_

Dammit. How could she be so irresponsible, when the consequences of her birth control failing would be disastrous? And it wasn’t just that one time. She’s never been a fan of condoms – and she figured that if they weren’t sleeping with anyone else, and remembering that her OBGYN claimed the IUD was a really effective birth control method, there was just no point in bothering with them. After the first few times, he stopped asking.

Biting her lip, she considers her options. She can’t possibly go to a drugstore. If anyone recognizes her, and it gets back to Peter… One photo, one tweet, would be enough. She imagines Eli Gold’s shock, and Peter’s fury.

No.

Determinedly, she opens Safari and does a quick search.

She chooses next day delivery. 


	4. Day 4

**Him**

Alicia is in court in the morning, but she is back at the office in the afternoon. She’s back at ten past three, to be exact – with Lockhart/Gardner’s glass walls, he can see her almost from across the floor. Not that he keeps _track_ of her exactly, but he always... notices her. Her presence. He notices her in a way that he doesn’t notice anyone else.

He doesn’t look at her, though. He’s in a meeting with David Lee, so he needs to be discreet. So Will doesn’t smile to her through the glass or seek eye contact when she walks by his office. Instead, he pretends to focus on his computer screen. The truth is he has no idea what the document he is supposedly reading is even about. But he can’t help but notice David’s smirk as he glances from Will, to Alicia, and then back to himself.

Dammit. David Lee knows, too. 

He blinks, forcing himself to actually read the words on his computer screen, trying to focus on David Lee’s usual office politics scheming.

He knows he’s in trouble. He knows she could break his heart at any time. But still, he’ll take anything she’s willing to give him. Even if it’s just the pale shadow of the things he’s wanted from her – _with_ her - for two decades. Things she chose to give to Peter instead of him. Such as her full, unreserved trust. Waking up to next to her every morning. Promises. Commitment. A home. Maybe children. But even when her husband betrayed her trust and humiliated her, and very publicly at that, she didn’t leave him.

He’s starting to wonder if she ever will.

So if lunchtime sex – _incredible_ lunchtime sex - in hotel rooms is all she can give him, it’s better than the alternative, which may very well be nothing at all.

Later, he meets her in the hallway, as she’s getting coffee and he is on his way out to a meeting with a big client. She looks like hell. Well, she looks like hell for _her_. She’s still gorgeous, of course. She’s always gorgeous. He knows now that she never looks more beautiful than she does early in the morning, with no make-up and her hair a mess from sleep and sex. When her skin flushes as he wakes her, his hand sliding up along the soft skin of the inside of her thigh.

But that’s not what she looks like right now. She is pale, not flushed. She has tried to hide the dark rings under her eyes with layers of make-up. Her eyes, usually sparkling, are dull. More reserved. In her right hand, she’s clutching a brown, padded envelope. Her hand is shaking ever so slightly.

“Are you okay, Alicia?” He asks her in a low voice, stopping. She stops, too, taking a sip of coffee. He notices the tension in her shoulders. She looks taken aback by his sudden question, but this really isn’t the place for a long conversation between them, with people passing by them all the time. People are talking already, they can’t fuel the fire.

“I’m fine. Why do you ask?” Her eyes narrow slightly. He’s not sure whether her question is actually an accusation.

“You look tired, that’s all.”

“I’m fine,” she repeats. “It’s just… I couldn’t sleep last night,” she confesses in a low voice.

“Worrying about the case?”

She hesitates, just a split second too long. “Yes.”

From the corner of his eye, he can tell that Diane is observing them. He can’t ask more questions, not now, so he doesn’t.

“Let me or one of the other partners know if you need help with the case,” he says, loud enough for Diane to hear.

“Thanks, Will,” she answers, smiling politely.

**Her**

She receives the envelope at work. The tests are delivered express in a neutral envelope as promised. Still, her heart is pounding. Last night, when she placed the order, she considered what would be worse. Having the tests delivered at home, where her children might get their hands on them - or at work. Where there’s Kalinda, and Will, and Diane, and – Will. Not that any of them would purposely read her mail, but what if someone happened to open it by mistake, or if the envelope wasn’t neutral after all, or maybe someone in the mail room…

To make things worse, she meets Will when she is on her way back to her office after signing for the delivery at the front desk. Of _course_ she meets him. It feels as if the envelope is burning in her hand as she talks to him.

Throughout their short conversation, the only thing that goes through her mind is: _What will he say if it's positive?_ Up until now, she has mainly worried about Peter, the children, Jackie, Eli, the press, Diane, everyone else at work… And all those are major concerns. But she realizes now that the most important worry is probably what Will would think. A baby, particularly one that would cause a major scandal with the potential to severely hurt him professionally – well, it wasn’t exactly what he signed up for that night in the presidential suite.

 _He doesn’t have to know_ , she thinks, and the knot in her belly grows tighter. _I don’t have to tell him._

But that would mean that she would have to… She shakes her head. _Cross that bridge when you come to it, Alicia_ , she thinks. _Take the tests first. Then you can worry._

Maybe there’s nothing to be worried about.

Safely back in her office, she can easily slip the brown, padded envelope into her handbag without anyone noticing.

She doesn’t open the envelope until after the children are in bed. She locks her bedroom door and tears the brown envelope open with shaking hands. Struggles with the plastic wrapping that covers the rectangular, colorful boxes that are inside. She reads the instructions. All of them, because she bought three different tests. Apparently a lot has changed on the home pregnancy test front in the last decade or so. Last night, she found the traditional tests she is already familiar with, with a pink or blue line you have to interpret – is it a line, or isn’t it? But now, there are digital tests too. Tests that give you the verdict, so to speak, in words. Pregnant or not pregnant, no faint line interpretation necessary.

But she realizes that one thing has stayed the same, even though she had forgotten about it until now, because it’s been so long – for most accurate results, the tests should be taken using morning urine.

Dammit. 

She’s reading through the instructions for what must be the third or fourth time when Will texts her, asking if she’s alright. He writes that he’s sorry they haven’t really had the opportunity to talk today.

She almost doesn’t text him back. His perfectly innocent yet concerned texts reinforce her guilt about hiding this from him. But she figures he might think something is wrong if she doesn’t answer, so she writes something in return. After, she can’t really recall what she wrote, but it probably wasn’t important. 

**Him**

The screen of his phone is the only light in the darkness. The Egyptian cotton sheet feels cold underneath his bare skin.

“Goodnight” was the last message she sent him, just a few minutes ago. He reads through her messages again, but they don’t really say anything of importance. They are neutral – distant, even. He scrolls up, to messages they sent to each other a week or so ago, on a night very much like this one. A night where hadn’t seen each other all day, and they couldn’t meet at night because she had the kids. Those messages were very different - full of desire and want.

He sighs, puts the phone on the nightstand. Alicia has avoided him for at least a couple of days. She is pale and drawn, and has admitted to not sleeping.

And she is late.

It could mean anything, of course. Buy it could also mean… something.

He wants to ask her. He has wanted to all day. But asking the woman you have been sleeping with if she is pregnant is the kind of thing you talk about in person, you can’t _text_ her. But even when he meets her in person, he realizes that he has no idea how you are supposed to broach that subject. With anyone. And with Alicia… Whose personal life is a mess, and who is so fiercely protective of her privacy…

No. He needs to wait for her to say something. If there is anything to talk about.


	5. Day 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is where the story finally spins off in a different direction! You'll recognize parts of this chapter from Late - but most of it is new.

**Her**

She thinks it’s weird – how, at first, she didn’t even notice it herself. Not until Will pointed it out. And now her being _late_ is all she can think about.

She does have a history of unplanned pregnancies, but that was a long time ago. Surely she _must_ be too old for that now. Women her age only get pregnant if they undergo expensive and invasive fertility treatments, right? IVF, maybe even egg donation. When she has read stories about women undergoing fertility treatments, she has always felt grateful she never had to go through that ordeal herself. 

But then, at 2 AM, she googles «unplanned pregnancies in women 40+», and her heart sinks.

She spends most of the night worrying about what Peter would do to Will if… And what the hell she’s going to do.

At six in the morning, after having had a couple of hours of restless sleep at best, she can’t wait any longer.

She’s done this before, back when she was with Peter, so she knows the drill: Peeing in a disposable plastic cup. Dipping the end of the test into the urine. And then the hardest part: Waiting three minutes for the result.

But even though the steps themselves are familiar to her, it’s never been like this before. She can’t bear to look at the tests as she waits, so she leaves them on the sink and goes to her bedroom. She has bought three tests, from three different brands. Just to be on the safe side. She sets the timer on her phone and sits down on bed. She stares at the countdown as she tries to control her breathing.

She never shared every single detail of her reproductive cycle with Peter. She would always test when she was alone, and she would only tell him about it after. This is different, though. Before – before his betrayal, she realizes - she always knew that regardless of the result of the test, Peter would be supportive. But now… Would Will be supportive if the tests are positive?

She feels fairly confident Will would take financial responsibility for a child of his. He wouldn’t be the kind of father who goes to court to reduce child support to the bare minimum, just to spite his child’s mother. But would he be there for the baby – and herself – emotionally? She knows that Will hasn’t been in a relationship that has lasted more than two years – ever. And that was many years ago, with Celeste - and having seen their chemistry, she wonders just what the nature of their relationship really was.

She has two kids, so she knows what she’d be getting herself into. All the things she thought she was done with. Breastfeeding twenty times a day, not to mention all night too. Sleepless nights with a teething baby. Endless diaper changes. Endless worries, too. Bouts of the stomach flu. Running after a toddler all day (and every day). Jam all over the couch. Noisy and exhausting birthday parties. Trying to get the child into the best preschool. And that’s just the first years – then there’s school, and homework, and more worries about their friends and relationships and grades and…

Parenting is hard work. She’s not sure she has the energy to do it all over again at her age. She’s not sure she _wants_ to do it all over again. Going from clandestine lovers to parents, well… that’s a huge leap. She’s not sure if their relationship would survive it.

It’s not even a relationship, strictly speaking. It’s just an affair. 

Will is used to living a life filled with beautiful women. Expensive wine and even more expensive cars. Impulsive trips to Paris, Milan or Hong Kong. He parties hard, but he works hard, too – he’s never had to answer to anyone. He routinely works 90-hour weeks. Would Will want to go give up all this to raise a child for the first time in his forties? With her?

She clutches her phone, her knuckles white, as she watches the countdown, second by second. What perhaps scares her the most about all of this, is that she thinks he would.

She thinks about a newborn baby, sleeping on her chest. With perfect little fingers and toes, and that sweet newborn smell. When all that matters, all that exists in the world, is the two of them. They are one. A tiny, perfect human being who relies on her for everything. Someone wants nothing else, who _needs_ nothing else, than to feel her heartbeat, the heat and softness of her skin, and the sweet taste of her milk.

When the alarm goes off, her feet aren’t quite steady as she takes the few steps across the floor to her bathroom.

She picks up the first test from the sink. Two pink lines - one informing her that the test is working, and the other... She starts to feel light-headed.

The second has a blue plus sign. And the third test – the digital one – says “Pregnant 2-3” in the test window. It doesn’t get any clearer than that.

Her grip on the sink is the only thing that keeps her standing. The room seems to be spinning as she double checks the results against the user manuals, even though she knows there's no point.

“Mom!” Grace is shouting from the kitchen. “I need you to sign my algebra test!”

She takes a deep breath and dries the tears she hadn’t even noticed she has shed. She stares at her own reflection in the mirror. Her eyes are huge and look nearly black against her pale skin.

She quickly splashes some cold water on her face, before she goes to the kitchen to sign her daughter’s test.

* * *

**Him**

He’s in court all day. He’s so distracted that even the judge notices. He’s glad he’s not co-chairing with Diane, though. Instead he lets the new junior associate who doesn’t know him well enough to realize that something is wrong do most of the talking.

He texts Alicia during a break. He can’t possibly ask her what he _wants_ to ask her, so he settles on: “Your place tonight?”

It’s what she expects from him. Their texts that are either about work, or sex, or planning to meet to have sex. They usually meet at her place when her children are at Peter’s for the weekend, so suggesting it now won’t rouse suspicion. 

She only texts him back after a few hours, which is unusual for her. “Sure. See you at a quarter to nine?”

He’s not sure what that question mark means. Or if it means anything at all.

“Ok,” he texts back. “I’ll bring takeout.”

* * *

**Her**

She should _really_ stop googling. “Home pregnancy test inaccurate result” does return a number of stories – but they all seem to be about women getting false negative tests. Not false positive ones.

She emails her OBGYN. Dr. Halloway has been her doctor since she became pregnant with Zach. But even though they go way back, and even though she knows all about patient-doctor confidentiality, she still cannot bring herself to write that she has just had three positive pregnancy tests. Instead, she asks a more general question about the accuracy of pregnancy tests and irregular periods.

Dr. Halloway answers her email after only a couple of hours. It must be a slow day at the office. Or perhaps it’s yet another privilege that comes with being the state attorney’s wife. She can feel bile rising in her throat. 

_“Dear Alicia,_

_Home pregnancy tests are more than 99% accurate – in fact, they have the same accuracy as the tests we use here at the clinic.”_

That’s not exactly a relief. Dr. Halloway even suggests that she can repeat the test in a few days if she still has not had her period by then. Apparently pregnancy tests will be negative in very early pregnancy, before the hCG levels are high enough to be picked up by the test. He also says there could be any number of reasons why her period is late that don’t involve pregnancy, including stress and early menopause.

She doesn’t know whether to laugh or to cry. Dr. Halloway must have misunderstood her email – he thinks she got a _negative_ test, not a positive one. Apparently her hCG levels are high enough, alright.

And menopause? She closes her eyes. Nope.

“ _If you wish, you can come for a check-up and a talk next week_ ,” he writes.

She can’t even begin to think about what it would be like to tell Dr. Halloway that she’s not pregnant with her husband – who is not only the state attorney, but who also used to come with her to Dr. Halloway’s office for every single check-up through both her pregnancies – but her lover. Chicago’s 16th most eligible bachelor. Her _boss_.

So she thanks Dr. Halloway for his swift reply and says she’ll get back to him on Monday if necessary.

* * *

**Him**

After work, he goes home for a quick shower and to pick up some clean clothes for the weekend. As he gets dressed – it’s a relief to put on jeans and a t-shirt instead of designer suits – he wonders what it would be like if Alicia were actually pregnant.

It would be complicated, to say the least. The press would be all over them. Getting a married junior associate pregnant – and the wife of the state attorney at that - would come across as very unprofessional to prospective clients, and they might lose some current clients, too. Diane would be furious, and the partners might lose respect for him. Alicia’s children would most likely resent suddenly having a much younger sibling, and they would quite possibly refuse to have anything to do with him – the man who ruined their parents’ marriage once and for all. Because surely there is no going back from getting pregnant with another man’s child, is there?

Not to mention that at her age, there is a significant risk of chromosomal abnormalities. He’s not sure if Alicia’s age would make the pregnancy a health risk for her too – he knows next to nothing about pregnancy and childbirth. But he’s heard talk of ‘older mothers’, and it’s always been bad news. He can’t bear the thought of being the reason why Alicia might be hurt, or worse. 

And Peter - Peter would _kill_ him.

But even as he knows that there are so many reasons why Alicia being pregnant with his baby would be a disaster, there is still a tiny part of him that is _hopeful_.

 _Stop it, Will,_ he tells himself. _Stop being an idiot._

He’s just projecting his immature and naïve fantasies and hopes from back when he was 23 on her now, two decades later. He knows better now. She is married – despite everything her husband has done, she still hasn’t divorced him. She has two children already, and he has no reason to think that she’d want a third child.

He has gotten close to telling her how he really feels a few times – but every time, she has found a way to stop him, or laugh it away. She doesn’t need to say it out loud, he gets it: It’s not what she wants. She wants an affair, not a relationship. 

_It’s probably nothing._

There are a number of other and far more likely explanations why she’s been so weird the last few days. Stress from the case. Maybe she’s had a fight with Peter or Jackie. Maybe Zach or Grace is having a hard time at school – goodness knows being the parent of two teenagers must be hard.

Or maybe she wants to break up with him. Or well, not break up exactly – it’s not like they are together. But end this affair, or whatever it is that they are.

* * *

**Her**

When Peter comes to pick up the children, she doesn’t notice that he looks worried as he sees the dark rings under her eyes and how her skin looks almost translucent.

* * *

**Him**

He knocks on the door, a white plastic bag with takeout in his right hand. When Alicia opens the door, she is barefoot, wearing a black tank top, with her hair tied back in a ponytail. She usually greets him with a kiss, but tonight, she doesn’t. Instead, she hugs him, tightly, it’s almost as if she is clinging to him. He can feel how her fingertips dig into the skin of his back through the cotton of his t-shirt. He holds her, not saying anything. Feeling the way her chest moves as she breathes - a bit too fast, a bit erratic. He wonders if she’s trying not to cry, but he doesn’t ask. Finally, she lets go of him, motioning towards the couch.

“Thanks for bringing food,” she says. “I’ll get us something to drink.” She doesn’t open a bottle of red wine for dinner, which she usually does. Instead, she puts a large bottle of sparkling water on the table, along with three bottles of beer. He opens one of them, but she doesn’t.

He also can’t help but notice that she barely touches her dinner. 

After they are done eating, he pulls her into his lap, and she straddles him as their kiss deepens and his hands stray along the curve of her back, underneath her tank top. His cock is already straining against the fabric of his jeans, and he can tell she notices by the way she sinks deeper into him, how she shifts subtly to stimulate her clit against the seam of his jeans. He grips her hips with both his hands, grinding her against him.

She tears free from his kiss, panting as she looks down at him with pupils that are so dilated her eyes look almost black. “I’m, uh…” She bites her lip, then she smiles. “Why don’t we move this to the bedroom?”

He removes her hair tie and allows her hair to fall over her shoulders as he studies her face closely. He’s not quite sure what it is, but there is… something about her. Something is not quite right.

Still, he smiles. “Sure.”

* * *

**Her**

She had planned to tell him. She really had.

But then he’s sitting on her couch, eating take-out and drinking beer, and he has no idea his world will never be the same ever again, and _how_ exactly is she supposed to tell him? How the fuck do you tell someone that you’ve just messed up both your lives? He never asked for this. Will wants sex and fun, he does not want the train wreck that is her personal life.

And besides, saying the words out loud would make it real.

So she doesn’t tell him.

Sex seems easier than talking. Sex has always been easy with Will.

She leads him to the bedroom, his warm hand in hers. He whispers deliciously filthy words in her ear as he undresses her, slowly, as he stands behind her. She inhales shakily. The air, slightly chilly from the AC, makes her nipples harden, stand up. He notices – he always notices everything about her body, it’s almost unnerving – and he pinches her left nipple between his fingers, rolling it. She closes her eyes, her head falling back.

“Open your eyes,” he says, his voice low and dark. She does, and for a second, she feels light-headed, looking up at the ceiling. “Look,” he says, and she gasps as she realizes that he’s looking at their reflection in the mirror on the wall. She feels his warm breath against her neck, and understands from how fast he’s breathing just how turned on he is. He is still fully clothed, but she has somehow ended up naked without her even really noticing. In the mirror, she sees her almost milky-white skin. Slender curves, toned legs, and a small, dark patch where her thighs meet. She sees his hand slowly, confidently, teasing her left breast.

“Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?” He groans, his tongue tracing the shell of her ear, and she thinks - yes. This really _is_ easier. She feels his cock against the small of her back, rock hard already. _This_ she knows how to do.

She turns around in his arms. “Clothes off,” she demands, and he laughs.

It’s all in a bit of a haze after that. His hands are seemingly everywhere, his tongue, his skin is so warm it feels as if it’s burning where it touches hers. Her tongue curls around the tip of his cock before she takes him in his mouth, and she revels in the tension in his thighs as she hollows her cheeks, in the strangled moan that is ripped from his throat, in his fingers in her hair.

She starts to take him deeper, but to her surprise, she realizes that she’s about to gag. She can usually more of him than this. She’s so startled that she pulls back, suddenly, her chest heaving as she looks up at him.

The skin of his face is flushed, his pupils fat from arousal. “Are you okay?” he gasps, looking confused down at her. 

She doesn’t answer, because there is no way she can answer that question right now. Instead, she gets up, kissing him. Because she knows it turns him on to kiss her after she’s gone down on him, and because she can’t bear any more questions. She pushes him towards the bed, and he’s all too happy to follow her lead.

Suddenly, he’s lying on his back on her bed, and she fleetingly wonders if her fucking another man in what used to be her marital bed, her lover’s baby hidden deeply in her womb, is worse than Peter fucking a hooker _and_ her best friend. But then she sinks down on him, agonizingly slowly, and she gasps as he fills her up, he always makes her feel so full, and there is no more thinking after that.


	6. Day 6

**Her**

They don’t wake up until his alarm goes off at nine.

“What the fuck?” she groans, trying unsuccessfully to block out the sound with her pillow.

“Sorry, I forgot to tell you,” he says apologetically, stretching his arm over her to switch off the alarm on his phone. The sheet slips down, and is now just barely covering his hips. She can’t help but admire his toned upper body in the morning light. He yawns, rubbing his eyes. “Basketball.”

“On a Saturday morning?” She asks incredulously.

“It was the only opening in our schedules,” he says. His basketball buddies are all lawyers and judges. They all work crazy hours. “It seemed like a good idea at the time.” His body is so warm, and so close, and just as naked as hers. She realizes she must have passed out last night before going to the bathroom to clean up – she’s still sticky between her thighs. She can see the stubble on his face clearly, and for a split second, she can’t help but think about what that stubble feels like against the soft skin of the insides of her thighs.

What she is thinking must be visible on her face, because he grins and says in a low voice, as he starts to kiss his way up her bare chest, every other word punctuated by a kiss, “but now that I’m your in bed, and you are naked and gorgeous and _incredibly_ sexy, basketball at 10 on a Saturday seems like a really bad idea after all.” He’s reached her neck, and his lips make her feel very… very… She doesn’t really have time to identify the feeling before he leans in to kiss her lips, and all of a sudden, she feels her stomach contract dangerously, and she quickly turns her head. His last kiss ends up on her cheek instead of on her lips.

“Sorry, I’ve got morning breath,” she says, breathing slowly through her nose. Dammit. Dammit. Dammit.

“It’s okay, I better get up anyway,” he answers, smiling. “If I stay just one more minute in this bed, I’m never getting out of here.” He kisses the top of her head, and gets out of bed, muttering something under his breath about never playing basketball on a Saturday morning again. He obviously passed out last night, too – he’s as naked as her, and it’s impossible to miss that he is hard. On a normal Saturday morning, she would be getting into the shower with him – basketball or no basketball. But today, all Alicia can do is focus on controlling breathing very slowly, so she doesn’t throw up all over bed. Through the bathroom door, she can hear him getting into the shower. As soon as he turns on the water, she stumbles down the hall to the guest bathroom, where she vomits up what little she had for dinner last night.

Thankfully, he’s in a hurry. Fifteen minutes and no questions later, he leaves her apartment, promising to be back in the afternoon.

* * *

**Him**

It’s late afternoon by the time he’s heading back to Alicia’s place. Basketball, a long lunch and then taking judge Carter’s brand new convertible out for a test ride turned into a full day.

It’s been hours since he had lunch, and his stomach is growling. He’s half tempted to offer to cook for Alicia, but decides against it. He’s loved cooking since he was nine and his mother asked him to help her make pancakes for the first time. He’s pretty good at it, too – but his schedule hasn’t really allowed him to cook in years.

Well, it would probably be more accurate to say that he hasn’t had anyone he has _wanted_ to cook for in a long, long time. He never cooks for any of his (many, over the years) casual lovers – he prefers taking them out for expensive dinners. No strings attached.

He obviously can’t take Alicia out for dinner anywhere.

He knows it sounds stupid, considering how intimate they were last night, not to mention all the things they have done these last few months – but him cooking her dinner would somehow be _more_ intimate than sex. If he cooks for her, he wonders whether she might somehow notice that she is so much more than a casual lover to him. Although that doesn’t make any sense. How could she possibly know how important cooking dinner for a woman is to him?

“I’m starving. Want me to get you something to eat on the way back?” He finally ends up texting her.

“I just ate, I’m not really hungry,” she texts back. “But bring something for yourself?”

It's probably for the best that she's not hungry - it means there's nothing to think about, really. So he settles on takeout, again, and a bottle of expensive wine. 

* * *

**Her**

She spends most of the day in bed, alternating between trying to sleep, retching, and trying to eat - very slowly, taking tiny bites only of the driest, blandest crackers she can find in her cupboards.

She’s all too familiar with morning sickness that is definitely _not_ just confined to the morning – she had it for the first few months of both her pregnancies. It’s draining and all-consuming. But right now, her major concern is that the near-constant nausea will make it very hard to hide that she’s pregnant, which terrifies her. In just a little over 24 hours, her children will come home. Peter, who knows exactly what she looks like in early pregnancy, will be dropping them off, and she has to talk with him, appear normal. And on Monday, she somehow has to get through a 10-hour workday even though she has zero energy. Her office is entirely too far from the bathroom. And then there’s Kalinda, and Diane, and _Will_ …

Will. She needs to tell him. And she will. As soon as she figures out how.

She definitely needs to get an appointment with Dr. Halloway. She quickly types an email to him on her phone, explaining that it’s urgent and asking if he has an opening on Monday.

* * *

**Him**

When she opens the door, he’s shocked to see how pale she is.

“Are you alright?” He blurts out, without even saying hi.

She frowns, then looks down at the floor, biting her lip. “Yeah, uh… I fell asleep on the couch, I just woke up. It’s been a long week. You really need to stop dumping last-minute trials on me.”

“That was Diane, not me,” he reminds her. He doesn’t believe that her looking like hell has anything to do with work, but he doesn’t press her. He’s known Alicia since they were 23. She has never responded well to pressure, at least not when it comes to her personal life. “Are you sure you don’t want dinner?” he asks instead, putting the paper bag with takeout and the bottle of wine on the table. “We could share. Portions are huge at Big Star.”

For a split second, she has an odd expression on her face, almost like she’s about to become sick, but then she smiles and shakes her head. “No thanks, I’m full.”

“Wine?” He’s found two wine glasses in her cupboard and holds them up – one in each hand.

Okay, so maybe he is pressuring her after all. Just a little bit.

She hesitates for a split second, then shakes her head again. “I’ve had a headache all day,” she says. “I’ve spent most of the day in bed. Red wine is just going to make it even worse.”

He returns one glass to the cupboard, and fills the other one. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks, giving her a brief side hug. “I could’ve brought you Advil or something.”

She relaxes into his embrace. “It’s okay, I’m good. Now have your dinner before it gets cold.”

She switches on the TV. They talk about work and news mostly while he eats. After he’s done, he pulls her closer, positioning her in front of him, between his thighs.

“What do you have in mind?” she asks playfully, but he doesn’t miss the tinge of exhaustion in her voice.

“Did you really think I’d take advantage of a woman how is ill?” he asks back, equal parts playful and serious. “Relax.” His hands lightly stroke along her neck and shoulders, silently asking for permission. “You’re so tense, there’s no wonder you have a headache.”

“Thank you,” she sighs, and maybe there’s relief in her voice, he can’t really be sure.

He’s touched her before, many times. He’s touched pretty much every square inch of her body. But it’s always been with one goal in mind: Pleasure – hers as well as his. Strangely, this feels as rewarding as foreplay, just in a different way. Her skin is so soft under his hands, and her sweet scent seems to envelope him. She usually wears perfume, but she doesn’t tonight. Even though he likes her perfume, he thinks he prefers the scent that is just _her_. She feels even tinier now than usual, with her head bowed, allowing him to do as he pleases with her body. His large hands search for knots of tension in her muscles. There are plenty. But then again, she does have plenty of stressors in her life.

She moans when he locates the most painful spots. Her moans of discomfort sound similar to the moans of pleasure that he is used to coaxing out of her, and he needs to concentrate on his breathing for a few seconds. He knows that if he gets hard now, here, her lower back pressed against him, she’ll feel it. It’s not what she needs right now. His body under control, he continues.

“It feels _divine_ ,” she says, her voice slightly muffled, her chin almost against her chest as his fingers trace the vertebrae of her neck and upper thorax. “You’re good at this.” She chuckles. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. You’re good with your hands.”

He moves in a bit closer, can’t help himself. “Is that so?” he whispers in her ear.

She laughs, and it’s a relief to hear, even though it’s short. “You know you are, Mr. Gardner. Don’t play coy.”

Within minutes, she’s asleep in his arms, her body heavy against his chest. He realizes she has never slept like this in his arms – fully clothed on the couch, without having had sex first. He shifts carefully to avoid waking her up, just enough to reach the remote control. He turns down the volume, then searches for something to watch. He settles on sports. He can feel the way her chest moves as she breathes, slow and relaxed, and feels his own pulse slow in response.

* * *

**Him**

He wakes up at about one, because he really needs to pee. He’s dazed and confused at first. He hadn’t even realized that he had fallen asleep on the couch. He finds that at some point, Alicia has turned around in his arms and they are now sleeping chest to chest. She is laying on top of him. There is a wet spot on his t-shirt, she must have drooled on him. He blinks, tries to clear his head.

He carefully lifts her, her sleeping body is floppy and heavy, and puts her down on her bed. He takes off her jeans – she’s sleeping so soundly she doesn’t wake up. Then he tucks her in. He goes to the bathroom to brush his teeth, undresses, and lies down next to her. He’s asleep again within minutes.


	7. Day 7

She just barely makes it this time. Her stomach contracts violently, emptying nothing but acid and bile in the toilet. Tears run down her face from the sheer force of her body’s reaction to the mess that she’s gotten herself into.

When she’s finally done, she sinks down on the bathroom floor, exhausted. She feels a warm hand on her shoulder, and startles.

“Hey.”

Fuck. She woke him up.

Will is holding a glass of water in his other hand. She wonders just how long he has been watching her. “Try to drink this. It will help you get that awful taste out of your mouth.”

She gets up from the floor on slightly shaky feet and accepts the glass from him. She rinses her mouth, spitting out the water in the sink a couple of times, before she hesitatingly tries to swallow a tiny mouthful. To her relief, her stomach accepts it, and she takes the chance on another mouthful.

She puts the glass down on the sink but doesn’t turn around to face him. She can _feel_ that Will is staring at her. She tries to think of something to say, but comes up short.

He clears his throat. “So,” he says, but doesn’t continue. There is a long pause. “So,” he finally repeats. “Are we going to talk about this?”

* * *

**Him**

She looks absolutely miserable – her skin is greenish-grey, her hair is a mess. Her knuckles are white as she clings to the sink, probably trying to stay upright. 

“I, uh…” Tears start to run down her face again.

“It’s okay, Alicia,” he says, his voice low. “I know.”

“How?” she whispers.

“You don’t drink alcohol, you pass out on the couch at eight, and you vomit in the morning… Plus you’re late. It’s not exactly rocket science, Alicia.”

“I guess not,” she admits.

She sits down on her bed, breathing slowly through her mouth. He realizes she’s probably doing it to keep the nausea somewhat at bay.

“I took three different tests,” she finally says. “Just to be sure.” She licks her dry lips, then shakes her head, chuckling. “Waste of money, I guess. If I’d waited until yesterday, I wouldn’t have needed a pregnancy test to tell me what’s going on.”

“How long have you known?” It hurts to ask, but he must.

“Friday,” she confesses. She looks up at him for the first time. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier. It’s just been… a lot to process.”

“Yeah.” He sits down next to her, but not too close. He nervously runs a hand through his hair. “It is.” His head is spinning. There’s a difference between suspecting and _knowing_ , he realizes. It’s hard to fully grasp what this actually _means_ \- or _could_ mean.

He has no idea what to do, or what to say. A few years ago, he seriously considered having a vasectomy. He didn’t see himself settling down and having children in the future, and he definitely wanted to avoid a scenario just like this one: Having to deal with an unexpected pregnancy. But he was always so busy, he didn’t really have time for sick days. And then Alicia came back into his life, and even though there was nothing between them, there was still _something_ there, and… He kept blaming work for not going to the doctor to just get it _done_ , and didn’t allow himself to think about whether Alicia might have something to do with it.

“So, what are we going to do?” She looks up at him, and something in her eyes makes him change his sentence to; “What are _you_ going to do?” He desperately wants to touch her, but something tells him she can’t bear his touch right now. “I know this needs to be your decision, Alicia,” he continues. “It’s just…” He’s a brilliant and highly successful defense attorney. Words never fail him. Except now they do. “I know it’s a… lot. And I know this is your decision to make. But I just want you to know that whatever you… decide. I‘ll be there. If you’ll let me.”

“Okay,” she whispers, but she doesn’t look at him, she’s staring at the floor.

* * *

**Her**

He stays. A part of her just wants to be alone. To hide from the world in the privacy of her bedroom and never come out. But when he asks her: “Do you want me to leave?” - she shakes her head.

She has to admit that it does feel nice to have Will take care of her. He goes to the convenience store on the corner to buy her the only crackers she thinks she might be able to keep down. He fetches her a blanket, locates a bucket – just to be on the safe side – and gives her a glass of fresh, cold water whenever she asks for it.

They don’t talk much. They watch sports, she naps once or twice, and he doesn’t eat food that _smells_ , for which she is grateful.

He looks at his Swiss watch, it probably costs three or four months’ rent at least, and she knows what he’s thinking. Grace and Zach will be home soon, and Will cannot not be here when Peter drops them off.

“So, what is your plan?” He asks, and it’s the first time he has directly addressed the situation since this morning, when he found her on the bathroom floor.

She bites her lip. “I have an appointment with my OB-GYN tomorrow morning,” she says. It turns out Dr. Halloway checks his email on Sundays, too. Private practice must be a bitch.

“Can I go with you?” His question, without even a hint of hesitation, surprises her.

“I don’t think that’s a very good idea right now.” She can’t possibly be seen with Will at Dr. Halloway’s office. After Peter’s very public scandals, everyone knows who she is. Will is a pretty well-known face in Chicago, too. One tweet would be enough to end her marriage once and for all.

“Then can I ask what you are going to discuss with your OB-GYN?” His brown eyes are fixed on hers. His shoulders are tense, and there is something in his face she can’t quite interpret.

“If what you are really asking me is if I’ll discuss having an abortion, then the answer is that I don’t know. _I don’t know_.” Her eyes fill with tears, and she hates herself for coming across as so _weak_. Damn hormones.

He hesitates. “Yeah, I guess that’s what I was asking.” 

“Is that what you want?” She asks. She has to. She knows that ultimately, it’s her decision, but she also wants to – _needs_ to – know what he’s thinking.

He fiddles with his phone, but accidentally drops it on the floor. She realizes she’s never seen him this distracted and upset. “I, uh… I don’t know.” There is a long pause. He’s staring at his phone, but his eyes are glassy, distant, and the screen is black. “No,” he finally adds. “I don’t want that.”

She releases a shaky breath she hadn’t realized she had been holding.

“I don’t mean to pressure you in any way, Alicia,” he says. “But you did ask. I realize it’s not my marriage that is at stake here, and I’m not the one who has to go through a high-risk pregnancy. But this involves me, too.” Finally, he looks at her.

“Yeah, I know.” She hesitatingly holds out her hand, and he grabs it. His skin is warm, the palm of his is hand sweaty. He must be a mess, too. It somehow feels comforting to know that. He squeezes her hand. “I’ll just… explore my options tomorrow. Talk to Dr. Halloway about the risks,” she explains. She leans back on the couch. “I googled yesterday, while you were out. I googled a lot, actually. And almost nothing I could find on women my age being pregnant was good. Right now it feels like there is no way this pregnancy could possibly end in a living, healthy baby.” She can barely get the words out.

“You should always get medical advice from your doctor, not from Google,” he says, and suddenly he’s sounding like a lawyer and not like a shell-shocked 40-something man whose secret lover – and employee - just told him he has gotten her pregnant.

She rolls her eyes. “I’ll keep that in mind, Mr. Gardner,” she answers drily.

He ignores her tone. “Call in sick tomorrow,” he says. It’s not really a suggestion. “Tell them you have the stomach flu. Tell Peter and the kids, too. It will buy us a couple of days, at least.”

“And then?”

“And then we’ll figure something out.”

He looks at his watch again. “I have to get going. Do you need me to get you something before I go?” She shakes her head. “We’ll talk after your appointment, okay? But not at the office. I think it’s best if we don’t talk about this at all at the office for the time being.” He’s different now, she realizes. Where he was insecure just a few minutes ago, he’s now back in lawyer mode. Something tells her he has spent the better part of the day trying to ‘figure out’ how to deal with this.

He picks up his bag from her bedroom, then returns. “One more thing before I go,” he says. “I need to know what you are planning to do with Peter.”

The nausea threatens to overwhelm her at the thought of her husband. “I don’t know,” she confesses. “I guess it depends on how things… go.” She may never have to tell Peter at all. From what she has read, she has a high risk of miscarriage. And if she decides to terminate the pregnancy, she can probably go out of state, where she is less likely to be recognized. But if she does go through with this pregnancy, she will have to find a way to tell Peter – and she would need to do it before he finds out on his own, or hears it from someone else. It took Will less than 48 hours to find out she’s pregnant, which worries her. Sure, she spends more time with Will than with Peter, but she meets him several times a week, and Peter does know her very well…

From the corner of her eye, she can see the newborn photos she had taken of Zach and Grace. It seems like all her available options are bad.

He nods. “Don’t tell Peter without warning me first, okay?”

“Why?” She frowns. It’s not as if she’s planning to tell Peter anytime soon. The longer she can put it off, the better. But she knows that if she stays this sick, the cat will be out of the bag sooner rather than later. She really has to ask Dr. Halloway tomorrow if there are any drugs she can take to keep the nausea at bay.

“I just need some time to prepare, that’s all.”

“You think he’ll go after you.” It’s not a question.

“He hates my guts. He always has, even back at Georgetown. And now I’ve knocked up his wife. Of course he’ll come after me.”

“I never understood why he hated you at Georgetown,” she confesses, but he just shakes his head, laughing.

“Really? You didn’t understand?” She shrugs, and he laughs harder. “Yeah, well. Let’s just say he didn’t like competition. He still doesn’t.”

She narrows her eyes. “What exactly are you planning to do?”

“It’s probably best if you don’t know anything about it.” Dammit. He’s definitely in lawyer mode now.

“You‘re going to dig up dirt on him, aren’t you?”

Will shrugs, and he looks for all the world like her husband does when he’s scheming to take someone down. “Among other things.”

“And if I say no?”

“It’s primarily to protect the firm – where, as you may recall, you work too.” She knows Will can be ruthless in court, but she realizes she’s never gotten on his bad side, and she doesn’t fully know what he’s capable of.

Come to think of it, she doesn’t fully know what Peter is capable of, either.

She sighs, taking a very small bite of her cracker. “Whatever it is that you are planning, you can’t use Kalinda.”

“Why not?” Will furrows his brow. She knows he’s close to Kalinda, and she’s also his go-to dirt digger.

“Because Peter has fucked her.”

Will’s eyes narrow. "He _what_?"

"He fucked her. Back when she worked at the State Attorney’s office."

"Kalinda has worked at the State Attorney’s office?" He’s looking downright annoyed now. Probably because someone obviously didn’t do sufficient research back when Kalinda was first hired.

"She worked there under a different name." Will opens his mouth to say something, but she just shakes her head, stopping him. "It’s a long story, it’s not important right now. The main thing is they fucked. I had no idea. And when we started working together at Lockhart/Gardner, Kalinda hid it from me and became my _best friend_." Kalinda’s betrayal still stings, almost as much as Peter’s.

“Okay. I won’t use anyone who has ties to Lockhart/Gardner.”

His arrogance is infuriating. She wants to ask more questions, but she can tell he won’t answer them. She’s seen that look on his face before – in court, when he’s working on a difficult case, fighting for his client.

He picks up his phone from the table. «I have to go. Try to get some rest, and we’ll talk later.” It’s clear this is not up for discussion. He leaves her apartment just in time, less than thirty minutes before the children come home.

Will’s stomach flu plan works like a charm. Peter gets out of there as soon as he possibly can, not wanting to pick up any bugs from her, and she can go to bed early without the children suspecting that anything is wrong. 


	8. Day 8

An appointment with a gynecologist is never fun, but never has she dreaded one more than today. Dr. Halloway greets her with a smile as always, and looks perfectly relaxed.

She, on the other hand, is sweating bullets.

“So, Alicia,” he says, leaning back in his chair. “I received your emails.”

“Yes.” Her throat is very dry. “Thank you for seeing me on such short notice. I’m sorry for emailing you on the weekend.”

“Oh, no problem at all,” Dr. Halloway says, but she is pretty sure he only found time for her because she’s married to the State’s Attorney. “Please tell me what I can help you with you today.”

She was intentionally vague in her emails, and she realizes that although Dr. Halloway must have understood that she has had reason to take a pregnancy test, he doesn’t know what the result of that test was.

“I’m pregnant.” There. Saying it out loud was easier than she’d thought.

“How do you feel about that?” He asks. She remembers that back when she was pregnant with Zach and Grace, Dr. Halloway would enthusiastically congratulate her. Now, the expression on his face is carefully composed. She doesn’t know whether he is reacting differently because of her age, because he tested her for STDs when she found out that her husband had been screwing a hooker, or whether she looks as distraught as she feels.

“Finding out was quite a shock, to be honest. I was under the impression that the IUD is a very efficient birth control method, and at my age…” Her voice trails off.

Dr. Halloway looks at her over his glasses and tilts his head. “The IUD does have an excellent Pearl Index, Alicia, but unfortunately, no method of birth control – aside from abstinence - is without a failure rate. And as for your age… You’d be surprised if you knew how many women in their 40s come to my office with unplanned pregnancies.”

Dr. Halloway discreetly pushes the Kleenex box on his desk in her direction. She quickly dries her cheeks, embarrassed to be crying in front of him. She didn't cry when she told him about her husband's infidelity and asked for a full STD checkup. Surely if she didn't cry then, there is no reason to do it now.

“It’s quite alright to feel upset and shocked, Alicia,” he says, more gently now. “I’ve been your doctor for a long time, and I have been under the distinct impression that you did not plan to have any more children. Am I correct?” She nods. “As I said, I do have quite a few pregnant women in their 40s coming to me. Their pregnancies are usually either a blessing or a life crisis. And sometimes, their pregnancy is a life crisis that turns into a blessing. But regardless of what this pregnancy is for you – and it’s perfectly alright if you don’t know yourself yet just how to feel about this pregnancy - you _don’t_ have to feel guilty about your feelings.”

She bites her lip, closes her eyes. She wills herself to breathe slowly, in and out. She really doesn’t want to have a complete breakdown in her doctor’s office. She doesn’t want to throw up all over his floor, either. There is a long silence as she tries to compose herself. Fortunately, Dr. Halloway has the good sense to give her some time. “What does your husband say about this… situation?” Dr. Halloway finally asks.

“It’s not Peter’s,” she blurts out. She doesn’t look at him. She looks at a poster on his wall instead. Some kind of medical chart. Everything is a bit blurry, she can’t quite focus on what the poster says. “Peter and I are separated. We have been for a while. He doesn’t know about the baby yet.” She instantly regrets using the word ‘baby’ instead of ‘pregnancy’. ‘Baby’ makes it sound more definite. More personal. More alive.

“Okay. I understand that this is a very difficult situation for you.” That’s the understatement of the year, she thinks.

“Is the father in the picture?”

Is he? She can’t even begin to try to find the words to describe what Will is to her right now. She has no idea.

“I don’t know.” It might be an honest answer, but it still doesn’t feel quite right.

She remembers his words from yesterday. _'But this involves me, too.'_

"Yes, he is in the picture. Sort of," she admits.

“Does he know that you are pregnant?”

“Yes.”

Dr. Halloway leans back in his chair again, taking his glasses off. “I can tell that talking about the father makes you feel uncomfortable, Alicia, and I promise I won’t bother you with more questions about him.” She nods gratefully. “Have you thought about your options?”

As if that question makes her feel any better.

“My options are all I can think about,” she admits. She folds her hands to keep them from shaking. She needs to approach this rationally and calmly. It’s the only way she can take control of this chaotic and confusing situation.

“Okay, why don’t we take this one step at a time? When was the first date of your last period?” She tells him, and he writes down the date, asks about the length of her cycle, and makes a few calculations. “So, with your 28-day cycle, you should be about five weeks pregnant. It’s too early to see the embryo itself on an ultrasound,” he explains, “but we should be able to see a gestational sac – a fluid-filled sac where the baby will grow. Let’s do an ultrasound and see what we find, shall we?”

A few minutes later, she finds herself lying down on an examination table - her legs bare, her lower body partially covered by a dark blue piece of cloth, and with a probe in her vagina. I _really_ thought I was done with this, she thinks. She tries to look up at the ceiling, but she can’t help it - her eyes are drawn to the screen.

The screen is a grainy haze of black and white, constantly changing and moving, confusing and uninformative to her untrained eye. Dr. Halloway appears to look around for a few seconds, but then he zooms in on a black area surrounded by a whitish-looking ring. “That’s the gestational sac,” Dr. Halloway explains. “As you may remember from your previous pregnancies, fluid looks black on ultrasound.” He freezes the image, and measures the black area.

“There we go,” he says. “6.25 millimeters in diameter. Right on schedule.” He pushes a button, printing the image on the screen. Then he takes a few other measurements, before he withdraws the probe.

“Why don’t you get dressed, Alicia, and we’ll talk?”

A few minutes later, she’s back in the chair, feeling numb. The ultrasound picture is lying on his desk, and she can’t look away. Dr. Halloway notices. “Would you like to keep it?” he asks, and hesitatingly, she nods. Her hand is shaking as she accepts it.

A gestational sac. Such a clinical word. It doesn’t feel real. Yet she is holding proof that it is in her hand.

“Alicia, I don’t know how you would like to proceed, and it’s okay if you don’t know yourself at this point. But I’m here to provide you with the medical information you’ll need to help you make a decision. Does that sound okay?”

She nods.

* * *

**Him**

“Hi,” he says, standing in the door to Diane’s office. She looks up from her computer screen. “Have you seen Alicia today?”

“She called in sick,” Diane says. “The stomach flu. I told her to stay home until she’s been symptom free for 48 hours. The last thing we need right now is a stomach flu outbreak at the office.” He has to hide a smile. He’s known Diane for more than a decade, and he knows her fear of the stomach flu is nearly phobic.

“Oh, I didn’t know Alicia was ill,” he lies smoothly. “I needed her today, but I guess it will have to wait. Well, when she does come back, I was going to ask her to help me on the Wilkinson case.”

“She’s already on the Sanders case,” Diane objects.

“Yeah, but I really need her on the Wilkinson case. She’s almost done with Sanders, the last day in court was on Friday. One of the first years can take over the paperwork.”

“Why don’t you ask one of the other third years?” she asks, and he can tell she’s getting suspicious. He has known her for a long time.

“Mr. Wilkinson specifically requested Alicia,” he explains. “He is a strong supporter of her husband, and I suppose he wants her because of her celebrity status.” It’s not the truth, but it might have been, so he supposes that makes it… not quite a lie. “Besides, I think it would be useful for her to shadow a name partner for a few weeks.”

“Why is that?” she asks drily, and he thinks shit, she’s onto us.

“Alicia is on the partnership track, isn’t she?” Will shrugs.

“She might be.” Diane puts her glasses down, her gaze razor sharp as she looks up at him. “But I don’t think you’re the right person to make that decision. Not when it comes to Alicia.”

He doesn’t ask her what she means, because they both know that he knows.

But he does get Alicia for two weeks, so he doesn’t really care.

* * *

**Him**

He hasn’t heard from her all day. He’s been itching to text her, but he agreed they wouldn’t discuss the pregnancy at the office, and he has decided that unless it’s an emergency, that includes texts, too. He’s not sure if he can concentrate on work if he texts her about this – and right now, he can’t rouse suspicion. But as soon as he’s in the elevator on his way home, late enough that there’s no one else in the elevator, he texts her.

**“How are you feeling? Did you go to the doc?”**

He has almost reached his car when she replies.

**“Yes.”**

He unlocks his car, gets inside. No more messages from her. It's clear she's won't be volunteering any information. 

**“How did it go?”** he writes back.

He waits for what feels like an eternity for her reply, but it is probably just a few minutes.

**“Def. pregnant. And he gave me some pills for the nausea.”**

His pulse is racing, almost as if he’d been running **. “Do the pills help?”**

**“I’m not sure yet, it’s only been a few hours. But I think so.”**

He bites his lip, considering his next move. He deletes several half-written texts before he finally settles on; **“We need to talk in person. Can I come over at lunchtime tomorrow?”**

Again, it takes a few minutes for her to respond. He wonders whether she’s freaking out.

**“Ok.”**

Relieved, he starts the engine and starts driving home. On the way, he hears his phone beep one more time, but he doesn’t check it until he’s parked at home.

**“Your lunch better not be smelly.”**


	9. Day 9

**Him**

He’s relieved to see that Alicia looks better than she did on Sunday. She still doesn’t look _well_ , but she doesn’t look like death warmed up anymore. She is wearing a white tank top, faded light gray pajama pants and no makeup, her hair in a messy ponytail.

With the exception of last Sunday, he has never seen her like this before. He realizes now that even on the weekends they spent in her apartment, having sex and doing very little else, she would always wear makeup. Although he did his best to make her hair look messy as often as possible, her hair was still always newly washed, smelling of exclusive hair products. And even though they would both be naked a lot of the time – when she _did_ wear clothes, she always wore something sexy that he suspects cost quite a lot of money. Something that accentuated her slender curves, often with laces. Somehow seeing this exhausted, drawn Alicia feels far more intimate than clandestine lunchtime sex with his passionate, playful lover ever did.

He’s bought a few sandwiches and a freshly pressed orange juice on the way, along with another box of the crackers he got her on Sunday. He offers her the box, but she scrunches her nose when she sees it. “I’m sorry, but I… can’t.”

“But you ate these on Sunday,” he said, bewildered. “I thought you said you were feeling better?”

“I know this is going to sound crazy, but I can’t eat anything for more than two days in a row,” she says apologetically. “When I find food I can keep down it works for a couple of days, but then it starts to make me feel sick too, so I have to find something else to eat. And I just… _can’t_ have those crackers anymore.” There is a hint of disgust in her voice. He’s clearly not able to hide his confusion, because she smiles when she sees the expression on his face. Her smile is pale in her ashen face, but it’s still there. “I told you it sounds crazy.”

He shrugs, and for some reason, he is embarrassed. “I suppose it’s one of those things men just can’t understand, right?”

“Consider yourself lucky you can’t understand, believe me. It was the same way with Zach and Grace. I know it will pass eventually, I just need to get through the first trimester.”

His eyes widen in surprise, and only then does it seem like she realizes what she just said. That it sounds like she has made a decision.

“I’m sorry,” she quickly says. “I, uh… that is… I...” He has never heard her stutter like this. She looks a bit like a cornered animal, he can practically see her defenses going up. “That didn’t come out right. I just… I’m still… undecided. That is, I…” Her voice trails off. 

He decides it’s not a good idea to discuss this right now, it’s clearly making her very uncomfortable. “It’s okay,” he says. “We don’t need to talk about this now.” He sits down by the kitchen table and unwraps his sandwiches. He’s starving, he missed breakfast. He doesn’t have much time, he has a meeting in an hour, and it will take him at least twenty minutes to get there, depending on traffic. There is an awkward silence. He doesn’t quite know what to say. He glances over at her. She is sitting at the opposite side of the table, as far away from him as she can, clearly trying to avoid looking at his food. Or at him. Or both.

“So this is very different from the way our lunches usually go, isn’t it?” He says, trying to lighten the mood. “There is actually food involved, for one.” He takes a big bite of his sandwich. If this were one of their typical lunchtime dates, they’d already be in bed by now. Or on the couch. Or maybe he’d fuck her against the wall. But they’d certainly be naked, or at least getting there. Not sitting stiffly at opposite sides of a table.

Although they might be _on_ the table. He remembers a particularly rewarding quickie here on this very table, about three weeks ago. He wonders now if that’s the time when she became pregnant. He remembers the sounds she made. She had already come four times in less than an hour, and he was about to leave for work, but he somehow ended up taking her again on her kitchen table instead. He doesn’t remember whose idea it was, but he does remember what it felt like when she came hard on his cock. How he had to cover her mouth with his hand so the neighbors wouldn’t hear her. He had just come less than fifteen minutes ago, and he’s a man in his 40s, he never thought he’d be able to come again so soon – but he remembers how his second orgasm took him completely by surprise. It was so intense he thinks he blacked out for a few seconds.

He shifts awkwardly, grateful that the table is between them so she can’t see the bulge in his suit pants. It’s definitely not the right time for that.

She sighs softly, and he wonders if she’s thinking about how he fucked her on the table, too. “Yeah.”

Abruptly, she gets up and pours them both a cup of tea. She hands him his mug. The she sits down again, but she doesn’t drink her tea. She just stirs it, seemingly aimlessly, her eyes distant and unfocused. The clinking of metal striking the sides of the mug are the only sounds in the room. Her lips are dry and cracked, and paler than normal. He wonders just how much better she is really feeling. Or is it just the lack of makeup?

He waits. They both know why he is here. But he is hoping she will bring it up herself.

“I had an appointment with Dr. Halloway yesterday.”

Finally.

He takes a sip of tea. “How was it?” He’s careful to keep the tone of his voice perfectly neutral.

She grimaces. “You mean what it was like to tell my gynecologist that I have cheated on my husband and am pregnant with another man’s baby?” She asks drily. 

“I have to admit that it doesn’t sound very good when you put it like that, but I bet he has heard it all before.”

“Yeah, _he’s_ probably used to it. He didn’t even raise an eyebrow when I told him. _I’m_ not used to it, though. I’m not used to being the… cheater.”

You’ve cheated for months, he thinks. But the consequences just didn’t catch up with you – with us – until now. But is it really cheating when your marriage has been reduced to just words on a paper? When you are not really living together? When your husband betrayed you and publicly dragged you through the dirt?

He nods, though. Regardless of the status of her marriage, this is new for both of them. “So what did the doctor say?”

“The short version is that my IUD must have fallen out sometime between my last check-up almost a year ago and now, because he couldn’t find it yesterday. I didn’t even know an IUD could just _fall out_ from my uterus without me noticing it, but apparently, it can.” She pauses. She nervously fiddles with the teaspoon, the cup of tea cooling untouched on the table.

She takes a deep breath, as if she has to gather courage to continue. “He also said that because of my ‘advanced maternal age’, as he so elegantly put it, there is a high risk of miscarriage. Probably higher than 50%.”

* * *

**Her**

Will clenches his jaw. “I know.”

“You read up.” Of course he did. Will is a defense attorney. He’s always well prepared, he never fails to do his research. You don’t want any surprises in court.

“I did. But I also got my own medical advice.”

“You have a gynecologist?” She asks incredulously.

“I found one who does phone consults. She was out of state, don’t worry,” he says quickly when he sees the concern on her face. “And she’s still bound by doctor-patient confidentiality.”

“Did you mention my name?”

“Of course not,” he snaps. He looks like he’s annoyed, but trying to hide it. “I needed medical advice, and I needed to _talk_ to someone. Someone who wouldn’t strangle me because I endangered her law firm, for starters. Or someone who wouldn’t tweet or sell us out to the papers.”

She suddenly realizes that she’s not the only one who has felt all alone these last few days.

“Then the gynecologist probably also told you that there is a high risk of chromosomal abnormalities,” she says.

“She did.” He puts down the remains of his sandwich. “I think we need to discuss the risks,” he says. “The gynecologist helped me balance my initial Google searches.”

“Those searches were scary,” she says.

“Yes, they were. It was hard to wrap my head around the risks at first, they felt overwhelming. But the doctor told me that even though the risk of miscarriage does increase with maternal age, most of embryos who die do so very early – before the heart starts beating. So if a fetal heartbeat is confirmed by ultrasound, the risk of miscarriage decreases dramatically. A fetal heartbeat can be detected in week six or seven, which is only a week or two away.”

Right now, two weeks feels like an eternity.

“And as for the risk of chromosomal abnormalities, compared to a woman in her early twenties, your risk is dramatically increased, that’s true. But that’s the _relative_ risk – it’s the risk _increase_ compared to the _very_ small risk that the younger woman has to begin with.”

She’s amazed by how Will is a lawyer to the core – he sounds almost as if he were talking to a jury. She wonders whether he has rehearsed this.

“What matters to _you_ isn’t a comparison with a hypothetical 20-year-old woman,” he continues. “You are interested in the _absolute_ risk, which in this case is your _actual_ risk of having a baby with a chromosomal abnormality. For a 43-year-old woman, the absolute risk is about three to four percent. Which means that you have a 96 to 97 percent chance of _not_ having a baby with a chromosomal abnormality. Provided there’s a heartbeat in a few weeks, chances are the baby is going to be… just fine.”

She exhales, nods slowly. Will is explaining this so much better than Dr. Halloway did – or perhaps she just wasn’t mentally in the right place to take it in at the doctor’s office. She was so overwhelmed.

“But still… I don’t know, Will,” she says, her voice strangled. She can barely get the words out. “I can’t help but wonder why I’m even _contemplating_ going through with this pregnancy, when I could spare Zach and Grace for so much heartache if I just…” her voice trails off. She can’t bear to say the words out loud. She is very much pro choice, always has been, but she finds that there is a big difference between supporting the right to choose for women in general, and suddenly being the woman who has to make that choice. “If I terminate this pregnancy, I wouldn’t have to tell anyone.”

“No, you wouldn’t. As long as no one recognizes you at the clinic and leaks it to the papers for a quick buck.” She realizes he is right – if she has an abortion, it could very well end up in the tabloids.

Will takes another bite of his sandwich. She wonders how he can keep eating while they are talking about this.

“I just don’t know what to do.” She can hear how dejected her voice sounds. She is just so tired. He grabs her hand across the table, his fingers intertwining with hers. His skin is so warm, his grip is firm. She is relieved that he doesn’t say anything, doesn’t try to comfort her with meaningless words. He just holds her hand.

“I don’t have any answers for you, Alicia,” he finally says. “I wish I did. Whatever we do, this is going to be difficult.”

She notices that he says ‘we’, not ‘you’.

* * *

**Him**

“Are you coming into the office tomorrow?” he asks her, as he’s lingering in the hallway. He knows he should leave, he’s already late for his meeting, but he doesn’t want to leave her.

“Yes. I can only fake having the stomach flu for so long.”

“Will you be alright?”

“I don’t know,” she confesses. “I do feel better now, with the drugs. I haven’t vomited all day, and I guess I could look halfway decent with a thick layer of makeup.” He looks at her pale skin, and although he’d never tell her, he’s not entirely convinced she can pull it off.

“I talked to Diane yesterday,” he says. “You’ll be working with me for the next two weeks.”

“Why?”

“I really need your help with the Wilkinson case.”

“No, you don’t.”

“No, I don’t, but Diane doesn’t know that,” he grins. “I can send you to ‘meetings’ and as you to do out-of-office ‘research’, so you can go home and get some rest. I’ll cover for you.”

“I can’t bill a client when I’m asleep in my bed,” she objects. “It’s fraud. I could be disbarred.”

“Let me know how many hours we’re talking about, and I’ll do them for you without billing for them,” he says. “It’s actually a great deal for the client. Wilkinson pays for a junior associate and gets a name partner. You’ll send me emails detailing the hours, and I’ll respond. Then we have everything in writing in case an issue arises at some point. I’ll make sure to document my hours on this case very carefully.” 

She closes her eyes. “Thank you,” she whispers.

He shrugs. “Well, I got you into this mess,” he says with a somewhat embarrassed smile. “It’s the least I can do.”

She rolls her eyes. “Well, as they say – it takes two to tango.” There’s an awkward silence. She clears her throat. “So, I… got something from Dr. Halloway.” She fetches her handbag. He notices how thin she is. She really needs to eat.

She hands him something, just a small slip of paper which has a plastic feeling to it, and it takes him a few seconds to realize what he is looking at. “Is this…?”

“Yes. Well, not technically. I’m only five weeks, so you can’t see the embryo yet. You’re basically just looking at a sac of amniotic fluid. That’s the black circle.” He realizes just how little he knows about pregnancies. Alicia has gone through this before, but he has no idea what to expect. He looks at the grainy black and white printout, and even though he intellectually knows what he’s looking at, it’s still hard to grasp the significance of… all of this.

“Can I take a photo of it?”

“Sure.”

He saves the photo on his phone. Not that there’s much to look at, really. But still. He can't seem to look away. 

There it is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From now on, I may skip a few days from time to time. Some chapters will also be quite short, as I will stick to one day = one chapter. 
> 
> And yes, there are totally crackers I still can't eat, nearly 12 years after my first pregnancy. *lol*


	10. Day 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our lives changed almost overnight. I'm sure the same thing has happened to many of you too. These last two weeks, I've been trying to navigate our new normal - homeschooling children, caring for a toddler as well as working from home, while my husband - whose job is critically important right now, unlike mine - is at work all day. If things continue to escalate, my husband might be away for a week or longer without coming home at all - and when he does, he will probably infect us. We are all young and healthy - we'll probably be okay. But no one knows.
> 
> As you can probably imagine, I haven't had time to write lately. I decided to update this fic now though, because I think it's the quiet before the storm. I hope I'm wrong. 
> 
> I hope you are all okay.

**Him**

Will loves sex. He may have been single throughout most of his adult life, but he is attractive, charming, well-educated and rich. He has never had any trouble getting laid. 

Consequently, he has slept with a lot of women over the years. So many that he has forgotten the names and faces of quite a few of them. He supposes that there were a few women he never knew the names of in the first place. Women whose faces never mattered to him - not even as he was actually fucking them. 

When you have casual sex with women you are absolutely not planning to have a baby with, you need to be responsible and protect yourself. Excluding his first ever girlfriend when he was in high school – looking back, he thinks it’s a miracle she didn’t become pregnant - he has only trusted two of his partners to take care of birth control. They were both long-term girlfriends - well, as long-term as they come for him, anyway. Celeste was one of them. With all the other women, he would wear a condom. Always. Every single time. Regardless of how drunk or high he was. 

Except with Alicia, of course. 

_He took his time._

_It was a bit awkward at first, though. They got off to a bad start with the annoying kid, the elevator, the keycard that didn’t work – all the signs telling them not to do this. He had two decades’ worth of fantasies starring Alicia Cavanaugh – Alicia_ **_Florrick_ ** _– and he didn’t quite know where to start. He just wanted to experience everything about her. Touch all of her. Taste her. Coax reactions – twists, moans, breathless whispers of his name – from her. And as for her – well, she was cheating on her husband. Will was no stranger to cheating, but she probably did it for the first time._

_Alicia turned out to be wonderfully responsive to his touch, and after some initial hesitation, she wasn’t afraid to tell him what she liked. She came easily, and he was in awe of how beautiful she was when she fell apart when he used his fingertips or his tongue on her. She came three times before he even thought about entering her. That third time,he felt how her walls clenched around his fingers as she came, almost pushing them out as her fingernails dug into the skin of his back. His chin was still wet with her juices, and he realized that he was perilously close to coming himself just from watching her face as it twisted in pleasure._

_As she came down from her high, he stumbled out of bed, panting. He reached into the pocket of his suit, which was on the floor near the bedroom door, for his wallet. He was about to take out a condom when she shook her head._

_I’m clean,” she said. “And covered.”_

_“I’m clean too,” he answered, his heart pounding. “So if you’re okay with it…”_

_“I’m okay with it.”_

_Sure, other women had told him the same thing before, and he had still insisted on using a condom. But now, his usual resolve failed him. The temptation to truly_ **_feel_ ** _her after all these years, without a thin latex layer separating them – it was just too much to resist._

_She closed her eyes as she felt the tip of his cock by her entrance. She was breathing heavily, her skin still flushed from her orgasms. He could feel her taste on his tongue, making him feel dizzy._

_“Open your eyes,” he whispered in her ear, his arms trembling as he supported his body weight, willing himself to wait. She was so wet he didn’t need to use his hand to guide himself into her. He knew he could slide into her easily with just one slight movement with his hips. But not quite yet._

_“Open your eyes,” he repeated, more insistently - and finally, she did. Her eyes were hazy, but they locked with his, and he kissed her, knowing she could taste herself on his lips and tongue. Only when he released her lips did he enter her, agonizingly slowly, and he watched her pupils dilate even further. Her mouth formed an ‘o’, but she didn’t say anything. Instead she exhaled slowly, tilting her hips to take him deeper._

_It had been so long since he had slept with a woman without wearing a condom, and it made their first time even more overwhelming. Feeling how wet she was around his cock. Hearing the low moan from the back of her throat when their hips were flush for the first time. Holding still as he allowed her body to adjust to his size, and as he allowed his own body to regain control so he wouldn’t cum after ten seconds like a sixteen-year-old. Knowing that there was nothing separating them, that they were as close as they could possibly be._

That first time with Alicia – and all the other times that followed – he never really thought about the possibility that she might become pregnant. Her age probably had something to do with it – but also, he trusted her. Alicia was nothing if not responsible, and he knew she would never be careless with birth control. 

She was married, after all. 

After that first night, filled with pleasure but very little sleep, it was clear to both of them that this would not be a one night thing. So over the course of the following months, they would have sex - or fuck, depending on her mood and his – every chance they got. And if, from time to time, he thought of it as making love to her instead of having sex with her, he never said anything about it. He knew it wasn’t what she wanted from him. And after their brief birth control discussion before their first time, he never gave condoms a second thought. 

Over the years, though, he has dreaded the prospect of an unplanned pregnancy. He has thought about how he would react if it happened – because you never know. Condoms might break, and well - he has had a lot of sex. It’s a question of probabilities, really. Because no method of birth control is perfect, you roll the dice - every single time. But now that it has actually happened to him, he realizes that he didn’t have a clue before. He also realizes that deep down, he is a selfish asshole who has no idea how to have an actual long-term, committed relationship with anyone. It’s not something he is proud of - but before all this happened, he would think that at some level, it was _unfair_ that he as a man would not have a say in whether he wanted to become a father. Even though intellectually, as well as legally, he knew it could be no other way. He would also worry about child support. He makes a lot of money. Paying thousands of dollars every month for the next 18 years to a woman you just happened to spend a night with, was not a tempting prospect. 

But now that he is actually dealing with an unexpected pregnancy, it is not at all like he had anticipated. He used to fear that he might end up having to father a baby he didn’t really want, with a mother not of his choosing. 

He never considered the possibility that he would actually _want_ to have the baby. That he’d be afraid of her choosing _not_ to have the baby.

He never considered that the woman he would get pregnant, would be Alicia . The woman he has wanted since the first time he laid eyes on her. The woman he fell in love with during their very first half-drunken conversation at that pool party at Georgetown. He’s not sure when he started _loving_ her – love probably came slowly, over time – but she is the woman he _would_ have chosen – if she had given him the chance. But she never did. Alicia made that decision for him two decades ago, when she started dating Peter. And now, Alicia once again has the power to irrevocably change the course of his life. 

He opens the photo roll on his phone, and the first photo is the one he took of the ultrasound printout. Just a tiny black fluid-filled sac surrounded by grainy white and grey. He knows that the confusing white and grey mess is _her_ , deep inside, and somewhere in that black fluid - too small to be seen yet, but definitely there – a piece of _them_ is floating. Possibly with a heartbeat. Possibly not. 

He exits his photo roll, and opens Messenger. Taps on her name. 

“ _How are you doing?_ ” 

It’s 9 PM already. Alicia might be asleep. He knows how tired she is these days. But after a few seconds, the familiar bubble telling him she’s typing something in response. He reluctanty tears his eyes away from the screen as he waits for her reply, looking out at the Chicago skyline. 

* * *

**Her**

She’d never be able to hide her pregnancy without Will covering for her. It’s not just the nausea - she needs a nap every day, just like a toddler. Thanks to daily two-hour naps and the miracle drugs Dr. Halloway gave her, she’s able to keep up appearances. She doesn’t _think_ anyone is onto her, but she does her best to avoid Kalinda and Diane, just to be on the safe side. Diane is already suspicious of her relationship with Will. And Kalinda, well... Kalinda always seems to know everything. 

She hasn’t spoken to Will about the pregnancy since they met in her apartment two days ago. They work closely together because she’s on his case, but it’s strictly on a professional level. He hasn't brought up her pregnancy, directly or indirectly – not once. The only difference she has noticed, is that he now keeps a selection of crackers and juice in his office, and he offers her some every chance he gets. 

She had forgotten what it was like to be pregnant. It’s been almost a decade and a half, after all. Sure, she did _remember_ the nausea and the exhaustion from her first two pregnancies – it was hard not to - but she must have repressed just how all-consuming they were. The impact a first-trimester pregnancy has on every single thing she does during the day. 

What’s worse, she had forgotten the fear. 

The fear didn’t set in until after the appointment with Dr. Halloway. Before that, it didn’t feel… real. But now, she can’t stop looking at the ultrasound printout. She probably does it far too often for her own good. One of these days, someone will catch her looking at it, and she will have a lot of explaining to do. 

Considering the context of this pregnancy, not to mention that she’s still not sure what to do about it, she finds it somewhat surprising that she is terrified every time she goes to the bathroom. She has started wearing white underwear only, to detect even the smallest drop of blood, should there be one. 

Even though Will’s down-to-earth risk analysis helped, she is still very much aware that it is a high-risk pregnancy. Sometimes she feels like a terrible person because she thinks that maybe, deep down, she is secretly _hoping_ for a miscarriage. Frankly, a miscarriage would solve a lot of problems. It would take an impossible decision out of her hands. Still, every single time she is in the bathroom and pulls her underwear down to find that the fabric is all white, relief washes over her. It feels like she can _breathe_ again. And then she feels guilty, because having this baby would ruin Zach and Grace’s lives. 

It’s an exhausting and vicious cycle of fear and guilt, and she goes through it ten or fifteen times a day. She has an appointment with Dr. Halloway in a week and a half. They should be able to see a heartbeat then - if there is one. She is both terrified and hopeful, and she has no idea what to do. 

How are you supposed to make a life or death decision? How can you tell what is right? 

Her thoughts are interrupted when her phone beeps. She is not surprised when she sees that it is Will. 

_“How are you doing?”_

She bites her lip. How is she doing? Hell if she knows. Most of the time, she tries very hard not to think about how she’s doing, because nothing good can possibly come from dwelling on it. She sits up in bed, considers what to answer. First she writes “ _Fine_ ”, but deletes it. Then she writes “I _don’t know_ ,” but she deletes that, too. Finally, she settles on: “T _ired. But at least I managed to keep down everything I ate today._ ” 

“ _Good_ ,” he writes back, almost immediately. Before she can figure out what to answer, he sends a second message. “ _Are you alone?_ ” 

He has asked her that question before. Usually when he wanted to have phone sex, but needed to make sure her children weren’t around. But that’s not what he wants right now. 

She considers lying, but she decides against it. “ _Yes_.” 

A few seconds later, he calls her. She picks up on the second ring. 

“Hey.” 

“Hey.” She keeps her voice down. The children are still awake, and they can’t overhear her talking to Will. They simply can’t. 

“I hope it’s okay that I call you this late,” he says. “I know you’re tired. But we haven’t really had any opportunities to talk lately.” 

“I know,” she says. They agreed not to talk about the pregnancy at work. She spends lunch unconscious in her bed, not fucking him in a hotel room or in his apartment. And she’ll have the kids this weekend, so she won’t be able to meet Will. The children will probably find out instantly if they try to sneak around. “I miss talking to you,” she says. The words just slip out. She didn’t mean to say them out loud, but they are true nevertheless. She doesn’t just miss the physical intimacy they have had so little of lately - she misses just being with him, too. She misses not having to discuss life-changing decisions every time they have some time alone. 

There’s a slight pause, and she wonders if he’s smiling. “I miss talking to you, too.” Yes, it sounds like he’s smiling. “I’m worried about you,” he continues. “You don’t eat enough.“ 

She can’t help but chuckle. “The nausea will pass. Frankly, it’s the least of my problems right now.” 

“I know,” he confesses. “I’m afraid that...” His voice trails off. 

“I know. Me too.” She’s not sure if they are thinking about the same thing, because there are so many things she is afraid of. Peter’s reaction. Divorce. Her children hating her. What people would say. Diane, her mother, Eli... Being hounded by the press – she knows they will primarily go after her, not Will. She is afraid of having a miscarriage. She is afraid of having a baby. 

She doesn’t know what he was thinking about – he probably has a long list of worries, too – but it doesn’t matter. She still knows. 

They talk for a few minutes, but she can barely keep her eyes open, and it’s hard to focus on what he’s saying. 

“Get some sleep, Alicia,” he says, after she fails to give a coherent answer twice in less than a minute. “You must be exhausted.” 

“I am,” she admits. “See you tomorrow?” 

“See you tomorrow,” he confirms, his voice warm. “Goodnight.” 

“Goodnight.” 

She puts her phone back on her nightstand. She is asleep almost before her head hits the pillow. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And yes, obviously: Don't do what Alicia and Will did! Use a condom.


	11. Day 12

**Her**

It turns out that vomiting at work is not an easy feat. Not if you need to do it discreetly. 

She can’t possibly vomit when there’s someone in the next stall. The rumors would run through the firm like wildfire – that the wife of the State’s Attorney is either pregnant, has an eating disorder, or has the stomach flu and is contagious. She uses the accessible toilet to avoid anyone hearing her. It doesn’t look very good, but she doesn’t have any other choice. Thanks to the drugs she got from Dr. Halloway, retreating to the accessible toilet is not necessary as often as she had feared. Still, a couple of times a day, she is suddenly overwhelmed by nausea, and then she _very_ urgently needs to get to a toilet bowl. Thankfully, she spends most of the day with Will. If he sees that she’s starting to look ill and the two of them are not alone, he discreetly calls her so she has an excuse to leave the room. 

It’s usually triggered by smells. Today, the trigger was her client’s perfume. The perfume she wore was very heavy, almost sickeningly sweet. The nausea came on so abruptly that Will didn’t have time to fake a call, she just had to storm out of the conference room. She knows she needs to come up with an excuse to her client, but right now, she can’t think of anything at all. 

Her knees are still shaking as she rinses her mouth after emptying the meagre contents of her stomach in the toilet. 

“I can’t wait for the second trimester,” she mutters to herself. 

She takes a deep, shaking breath as she realizes what that actually implies. She _has not_ decided yet, she reminds herself. Both options appear impossible, each in their own way. 

They haven’t discussed terminating the pregnancy since the day after her doctor’s appointment. She hasn’t brought it up because just thinking about a termination makes her feel guilty, and Will hasn’t brought it up either. She suspects he’s trying his best not to pressure her. Which she certainly appreciates, but it’s almost a bit annoying how _perfect_ he is being about all of this. 

Frankly, she is surprised that Will is not only being this supportive, but that he actually _wants_ to keep the baby. He has been a bachelor all his life, and it seems like he’s really been enjoying it, too. She is not at all sure he fully realizes how much work and how many sacrifices having a baby actually entails . Not to mention what Peter will do when he finds out. _If_ he finds out. Peter will most likely go after what would hurt Will the most – and that would be Lockhart/Gardner. 

She is also starting to wonder what Will expects will happen between the two of them if they do have this baby. Her marriage would certainly be over, but where would that leave Will and her? She remembers how Peter and she fought back when they were new parents. How the exhaustion and the overwhelming feeling of responsibility for the pink, screaming little human who needed them every single minute of every single day brought out the worst in them. How their relationship, _them_ , had to take the back seat. Was this the point where their marriage started going downhill? She wonders. Or did that come later? 

Peter and she had been together for years at that point, they were married and committed to each other – and still, it had been incredibly hard. She and Will would be going directly from having a lunchtime affair to having a baby. How can that possibly work? How would they do it? Would they just keep fucking each other, no strings attached, while also having a baby? Or would he move in with her? Would they get married? She fears that regardless, chances are that within a year or two at most, she would end up being a single mother in her 40s, to three children having two different fathers. By the time the youngest would go off to college, she would be in her early 60s. 

She has no idea how to talk to Will about all of this. 

She checks her reflection in the mirror. She looks awful – her hair is dull, her skin is nearly gray. She applies lipstick on her pale lips and a little blush on her cheeks. Better. Well, at least somewhat better. 

These last few days she has developed a bit of a routine to try and slip out of the accessible toilet without anyone seeing her. She listens for steps in the hallway. Nothing. She unlocks the door, but curses under her breath when she sees Kalinda standing in the hallway. Quietly. It looks like she is texting someone, and she doesn’t look up at Alicia when the door opens. Kalinda’s eyes are fixed on her phone. 

Alicia passes Kalinda in the hallway without sending even a single glance in her direction. 

* * *

**Him**

His phone lights up. 

_“Hi, I’m in town. Leaving tomorrow morning. Wanna have a drink?”_

Giada Cabrini. He hasn’t seen her in almost half a year. They are friends on Facebook, and her pics from around the globe pop up in his feed from time to time. He has read a few articles on her, too – Giada is working in her father’s company, and is quickly gaining a name for herself. It’s not surprising – she is well educated and smart as a whip. She is obviously also _very_ wealthy - and equally well connected. 

He closes his laptop, yawning. It’s almost 10 PM on a Friday night, and he’s pretty much alone in the office. Why not? He thinks. It’s not like he has anything else planned. All that awaits him at home, is a bottle of scotch and an empty apartment. Meeting Giada is always fun. 

“ _Where?”_ he writes back. 

An hour later, he tries to navigate through a packed club which he has read somewhere is the latest hottest place to be seen at in Chicago. He hasn’t been here before. Usually he would have, but he hasn’t been on the dating or partying scene these last few months. 

Giada has – not surprisingly – got them a private table. He supposes you can get pretty much anything with an American Express Centurion card. He has to admit it’s a bit refreshing that she is richer than him. To be fair, she is richer than him by far. He doesn’t primarily like it for the perks, such as really expensive wine or private tables at popular clubs – although he does appreciate that, too. Mostly, it’s knowing that she is interested in _him_ , and not in his money. 

He takes off his tie, opens the top button of his button-down shirt. He dressed for court this morning, not for partying with the hippest crowd in Chicago. 

Giada looks as gorgeous as ever – her lipstick is the perfect shade of dark red on her full lips, her dark brown eyes are sparkling. She is wearing a black dress which he suspects costs more than his rent – and his rent is decidedly not cheap. 

She gets up when he arrives, giving him a hug and a kiss on the cheek. Her body is small, soft and warm against his. She smells sweet, of flowers – he wonders what perfume she is wearing. He suddenly remembers how Alicia stormed out of the conference room today. When she returned, she muttered something about perfume under her breath. 

He kisses Giada’s cheek too. “It’s good to see you,” she says, as she sits back down. He sits down too. They sit pretty close – they have to, to be able to hear each other. The place is packed, and the music is too loud for his liking. He’s probably getting too old for this. 

“It’s good to see you too. It’s been a while – six months? Seven?” He asks. 

“Yeah, work has been crazy lately.” She excitedly goes on to tell him about how she has worked her ass off in Tokyo, São Paulo, New York and Rome. 

They meet whenever she’s in town. Even though she doesn’t live in Chicago anymore, Giada somehow always knows exactly what the hottest venue is right now, and that’s where they’ll meet. They catch up - sometimes over an expensive meal, always over drinks. After, they usually end up in her hotel suite. Giada is as great in bed as she is at everything else she does. 

He shifts uncomfortably. Maybe going out with Giada tonight was a mistake. With his current situation... It’s complicated enough as it is. He steals a look at his phone. No messages from Alicia. No wonder - she is probably asleep. 

Alicia is married. And yes, she is pregnant with his baby, but she has given no indication that she is interested in being in a committed relationship with him. It feels like she keeps pushing him away. There is no reason to feel guilty about spending time with Giada. He likes her. She is beautiful, smart and funny. 

They stay longer than he had planned, and they have more than a few drinks. He hopes she doesn’t have a very early flight, because she will probably lose it if she does. It’s almost 3 AM when Giada suggests they leave, her voice slightly darker than normal. She looks up at him through her eyelashes. 

“Sure,” he says, and as they start to leave, her small hand finds his. He squeezes her fingers, his heart racing. 

“My car is waiting outside,” she says in his ear, very close, so he can hear her over the music. A shudder goes through him when the tip of her tongue slips out, just for an instant, touching the shell of his ear. He nods, because of course her car is waiting for her. She doesn’t call an Uber, like most people. Outside, he takes a deep breath – relieved to fill his lungs with fresh air at last. The club may be the hippest place to be in Chicago, but they really need to get their ventilation system fixed. But of course – by the time they get around to doing that, the crowd will probably have moved on to somewhere else. 

A large, black Mercedes with tinted windows drives up to them, and he wonders when she texted the driver. The driver gets out and opens the door for them. Instead of getting inside, she stops. With the hand that is not holding his she touches his neck, plays with the short hair there, as she leans closer, pressing her body against his. He feels the soft swell of her breasts, the curve of her hips. Her lips are soft against his, and he can taste the expensive red wine on her tongue. 

“Want to come back to the hotel with me?” She says as their lips part, her voice low. 

She has never _asked_ before. 

“I thought you were leaving early tomorrow morning,” he says, trying to win some time. 

“I was,” she says. “But I guess I’ll text Jeff to reschedule the departure time.” So she came on a private jet. Of course. 

This time, he initiates the kiss, and he feels his cock starting to stir. She’s soft and attractive and very close, and with everything that’s been happening in his life lately, it’s been a while. He’s been so stressed out he hasn’t even jerked off in a week. He knows she can feel his erection, too, from the soft moan from the back of her throat. He ends the kiss, his own free hand entangled in her hair as he breathes heavily, his eyes closed, their foreheads touching. 

“You’re not coming back to the hotel with me.” It’s not a question. He opens his eyes, confused. Her eyes look almost black from arousal and the bad street lights. 

“Who is she?” Giada asks, and the tone of her voice isn’t accusing, or jealous, just... curious. 

He shrugs. “No one. I’m not dating anyone.” 

She cocks her head. “You’ve been... different all night. Distracted. There is someone.” 

Dammit, how can she look right through him? He thought he had been acting normal all night. He has hardly been thinking about Alicia at all. He has only checked his phone maybe every half hour. 

“It’s complicated,” he mutters. 

“Is that your Facebook relationship status?” she asks, sounding amused. 

“Of course not.” He’d never have a relationship status on his Facebook profile. He is semi-professional on Facebook – it's the only reason why he’s on Facebook in the first place. He never writes about anything personal. “She’s married,” he admits. He knows he shouldn’t tell Giada that, but he hasn’t told _anyone_ , and he’s had more than a little to drink. 

“Oh, of course. Alicia Florrick,” she says with a knowing smile. She’s still pressed against him, and he’s still half hard. 

“Do you really think I’d sleep with an employee? It’s extremely unprofessional. Not to mention I’d be asking for a lawsuit,” he says, but even he can hear how unconvincing he sounds. 

She laughs. “I think you would when that employee is Alicia Florrick.” 

He rolls his eyes. “I don’t know why you think it’s her. Chicago is full of married women. And trust me, I’ve slept with more than just a few of them.” 

“I know you have, but I’ve seen you and Alicia together. Plus, you know. I’ve heard things.” 

“What have you heard?” he asks, and he knows that with the urgency of his tone he’s pretty much admitting to everything, but it doesn’t really matter at this point. 

“You two are about the worst kept secret in Chicago. People have been gossiping about you for years.” 

He leans in even closer. “Didn’t your mother tell you not to listen to gossip,” he whispers in her ear, and he’s pleased to note the shiver that goes through her body. He can get to her, too. 

“Just… be careful.” He raises an eyebrow, and she continues: “Peter Florrick is a powerful man. Does he know you’re sleeping with his wife?” Will doesn’t answer, he just holds her gaze. “I’ll take that as a no. Well, make sure you get something on him for when he finds out.” 

He grins. One of his favorite things about Giada is that the two of them are so much alike. Falling in love with this woman would be _so_ easy, if he weren’t already hopelessly in love with someone else. He holds her head between his hands as he kisses her – a long, slow kiss. In the background he hears someone giggling. He knows her driver is probably watching them while trying to look like he isn’t watching them too, but he doesn’t care. 

“I have a folder full of dirt on that bastard,” he breathes when he releases her. 

She smiles. “Good. But be careful.” 

“I just told you that I am.” 

“Be careful with _her_. So she doesn’t break your heart.” The last sentence is just a whisper. She takes a few steps back from him. “Goodnight, Will.” 

“Goodnight.” 

She starts to get into the car, but stops. “Good luck,” she says with a wry smile. 

Then she’s gone. He ignores the spectators he didn’t realize they had, cursing himself for having this conversation with Giada in public. He only lives a few blocks away, and he decides he could use some fresh air before he goes to bed, so he doesn’t call an Uber. 


	12. Day 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, the thing is - lockdown (with kids) is a lot of work, but it's also boring. So I end up writing fanfiction so I won't lose my mind!  
> I hope you are all well.

** Her **

When she wakes up, it’s almost noon. She sits up in bed and takes a few pills – the anti-nausea drug and a folic acid supplement - s wallowing them with a few sips of water from the glass on her nightstand . Then she attempts to eat a cracker. It’s her new morning routine. She needs to get her morning sickness at least somewhat under control before she  has to face her the children. It’s not like her to sleep until noon on a Saturday, but she hopes they won’t notice.

Taking tiny bites of the cracker, chewing them very slowly, she checks her phone. She has three messages from Will. She furrows her brow. It’s not like him to text her multiple times without waiting for her to respond.

The first  text  came at a few minutes after 10. 

« _ I’m sorry _ .»

Then, a few minutes later: « _ Don’t believe the tabloids. Nothing happened. _ » 

Then, half an hour ago: « _ Are you awake? _ » 

Shit . What has he done now? 

She quickly  chumhums his name, and  one of the first hits is dated this morning. “ ** Eligible  ** ** Chicago  ** ** bachelor Will Gardner on hot date with billionaire’s daughter ** ”. 

She clicks on the link, and her eyes immediately fall on a photo of Will kissing a woman who is unmistakably  Giadia Cabrini. She’s not really surprised it’s Giada – Will may have been screwing half of Chicago, but to her knowledge, he doesn’t know all that many daughters of billionaires. 

The kiss is  definitely not just a quick peck on the cheek – his holds her head between his hands, their bodies are pressed against each other. She knows that kiss – Will has kissed her like that, too. When he took control and was about to  _ fuck _ her, hard, usually against a vertical surface. He seems to like that.

And she likes it, too. 

The photo is a reminder that she is not the only woman he has kissed like that. And while she doesn’t really care about his past, the fact that he is apparently  _ still  _ screwing around with other women, while she pukes her guts out on a daily basis and is in the middle of a major life crisis thanks to  _ him.. _ . 

He picks up on the first ring.

“Alicia.”

“Will.”

There is a long silence. She does not help him out.  Surely he knows that she has seen the article. “I’m sorry,” he finally says. “I’d had too much to drink, and things got a little bit out of hand. I didn’t even know someone was taking photos of us.”

She knows she shouldn’t, but she can’t help it. After Peter… “How old is, she, Will? Twenty-four? Twenty-five?”

She can practically hear him gritting his teeth over the phone. 

“She is twenty-seven. Not that it matters.”

“Really?”

“No. It doesn’t matter. Not as long as you are still married.”

“My marriage has nothing to do with this,” she objects.

“Your marriage has  _ everything _ to do with this. You never show your hand, Alicia. You just keep me  _ and _ Peter guessing. What would you have done if the baby were Peter’s?”

“Are you accusing me of something?” she spits out. She can just barely contain her rage.

“No, I’m not, because  _ I _ actually trust you. But you have had sex with Peter after he was released from jail, right?”

“I don’t need to answer that question.” She remembers how it usually happened as a result of the ever-constant tension between her and Will. She went home from Lockhart/Gardner, from  _ Will _ , to fuck Peter as an outlet for her sexual frustration. 

“No, you don’t. But I bet you did. No one knows when that IUD fell out – it could’ve been  as long as a year ago. Which means that you very well could’ve gotten pregnant with Peter instead of with me. What would you have done then?”

She hasn’t really thought about that before. “I’m not sure,” she admits. “I suppose we would have tried again.” 

There is a long silence on the other end. “I can’t believe that after everything Peter has done to you, you are  _ still _ giving him  second chances,” he finally answers, his voice sounding strained. «Or third, or however fuck the far you two have gotten by now. But you won’t even give me  _ one _ chance to get this right.” She hears him mutter something under his breath, she can’t quite hear what he says. It sounds almost as if he’s mainly talking to himself as he continues: “I can’t believe I didn’t listen to my better judgement in the first place. I should’ve just used condoms. If I hadn’t listened to you, we wouldn’t have been in this mess in the first place.”

“I thought you said you wanted this baby,” she snaps, but she keeps her voice low, so the children can’t hear her through the door. They are probably awake by now, it’s late.

“I do. But these circumstances are...” His voice trails off, and he sighs. “I spend every minute of every day partly worrying about your health, and partly worrying that you’ll have an abortion without even telling me first.”

His words render her speechless.

He must think he has gone too far, because he quickly continues: “I’m sorry. I know that puts pressure on you, and I promised myself I wouldn’t do that to you. But this is getting unbearable, Alicia. You keep pushing me away, no matter what I do. And it’s not just now, it’s been like this ever since we first started sleeping together. So yes, last night, I went out with Giada. We do from time to time when she’s in town. I was bored and I was lonely. And yes, I have slept with her before, but I had no intention of sleeping with her last night, and I didn’t. Not that it’s really any of your business. You need to figure out what you want from me before you get to be angry about me going out with other women.”

“What I  _ want _ from you?” She can barely get the words out.

“Yes, Alicia. What do you want from me? Do you just want to fuck me, or do you want something more?”

Her mouth goes dry. There is a long silence.  She has no idea what to say. What does she want? 

“It’s never been about what I want,” she finally says. She has been a wife and mother for so long that her own wishes have taken a back seat for the better part of two decades.

“That’s where you are wrong, Alicia. It’s  _ always _ been about what you want. It was back at Georgetown, and it is now.”

“Will…”

“No,” he snaps. “This isn’t a conversation we should be having over the phone. In fact, we shouldn’t be having this conversation at all right now. We both might end up saying things we’ll regret. Why don’t you think long and hard about what you  _ really _ want, and we’ll take it from  there. Later. In person.”

He hangs up without saying goodbye.

She stares at her phone, stunned.

What she wanted at  Georgetown ? 

_ Their eyes met across the pool.  _

_ Will was always with a pretty (but constantly changing) girl by his side. He was annoyingly cocky in class, and it seemed like he went out of his way to come up with arguments that legal contradicted hers. She supposed it was because she was top of their class, and he was second. But even though he was arrogant, she secretly enjoyed arguing with him in class. He made her work harder, he made her better. She often had to suppress her laughter at his jokes, because she didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing he had made her laugh. _

_ The two of them were at his apartment, alone together for the first time as they prepared for a mock trial. Even though it was a stupid fictional fairytale case, Will was so enthusiastic, so competitive, and it rubbed off on her. They stayed up all night, fueled by coffee and an intense desire to win. Their hands accidentally touched a few times as they passed books and papers between them across the table. It made her heart skip a beat. Her made her an omelet out of leftovers from the fridge just after midnight. It took him just ten minutes, but it was easily the best omelet she had ever tasted. She woke up in his bed the next morning. She didn’t really remember how she had ended up there. She had been so exhausted last  _ _ night, _ _ she must have fallen asleep over her books. Will wasn’t in the bed with her. She found him on the couch, sound asleep. The couch was far too short for him, it looked very uncomfortable – his neck bent in an awkward position, his feet dangling off the end of the couch. She knew she needed to wake him so they wouldn’t be late for the mock trial, but she couldn’t help it – she just stood there for a while, watching him sleep. When she finally woke him up, even though his neck was clearly killing him, he didn’t complain. He just blushed and smiled a shy smile she had never seen from Georgetown’s biggest  _ _ ladies _ _ man before.  _

_ The dancing floor was packed. _ _ His hand was on her waist. His touch seemed to be burning a hole through her dress. The DJ started playing a slow song, and suddenly, they realized it was just the two of them. All their other friends had somehow disappeared, and neither of them had noticed.  _ _ So _ _ she swayed closer to him, or perhaps he swayed closer to her, it wasn’t really clear. Her arms were around his neck, and his arms were around her waist, holding her close. She knew Peter would be furious if he’d seen them, but she didn’t care. Because Peter wasn’t there. She felt her pulse pounding, and she was intensely aware of him in a way she never had been with any man before. His breath was warm on her neck, his skin smelled male and intoxicating. She could feel his lean, athletic body under his shirt. She felt herself becoming wet, and she wondered if he could smell her arousal – but strangely, it didn’t make her feel embarrassed. She felt him grow hard against her belly, and she heard him whisper ‘sorry’ in her ear, but she didn’t pull back. Instead, her fingertips gently explored the skin of the back of his neck and the short hair she found there. He sighed, a shudder passing through his body as he held her even closer. She felt his lips against her neck, very briefly. He walked her home that night. But she didn’t invite him up, because she had a boyfriend, after all.  _

_ She panicked the next morning.  _ _ She called her friends, begging them not to tell Peter. Because  _ _ they had all seen the two of them on the dance floor. _ _ Everyone had. _

_ She remembers the looks between the Peter and Will at the graduation party. The almost possessive grip Peter had around her waist. How his fingertips dug almost painfully into her skin through the silk of her  _ _ dress. _ _ Peter kissed her far more often than he usually did in public. For some reason, Will’s date, some first-year blonde bombshell, was furious.  _

And it’s all there. It has  _ always _ been there. 

What does she really want?

She takes a quick shower, throws on a tank top and sweatpants, and goes to find her children. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did have a plan with this fic, but it seems to have taken on a life of its own. I hadn't really anticipated the events in this chapter. *lol*


	13. Day 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, the thing is, I did have a plan for this fic when I first started writing it. The plan was rough, sure, but it was still a plan. But sometimes, fics defy your plans and take on a life of their own – and that’s what happened in chapter 11. I had planned to write about Will going out with Giada, but I *hadn’t* planned what actually ended up happening between the two of them. The kiss and the photos changed the dynamics between Will and Alicia, and altered the storyline. So I needed to not only rewrite this chapter, but I also had to write the next four chapters too before I could post this chapter, to make sure the evolution of their relationship makes sense. 
> 
> Also, just a reminder (because it might be difficult to keep track) - this chapter takes place on day 14, which is a Sunday.

** Her **

She had been worried about this weekend. Getting through a few hours after school is one thing - spending a whole weekend together without Zach or Grace noticing her nausea is much more difficult. 

It goes better than she had feared, though. She realizes that she is probably mostly saved by their inexperience. If they had been older, she is almost positive they would have understood that their mother is pregnant. She has pretty much every pregnancy symptom in the book, and she knows she is not always able to hide them.

Over dinner, Grace asks her mother if she is feeling alright, because she looks so pale, and she spends far more time pushing her food around the plate than actually eating it.

“I haven’t quite recovered from the stomach flu yet,” Alicia lies. Lying to her children is surprisingly easy. Perhaps it’s because the alternative – telling the truth – is not an option. “It can take a week or two sometimes.” 

“The stomach flu is the  _ worst _ . I’m really glad Zach and I didn’t catch it too.” 

“Yes, so am I.” Alicia hopes her smile doesn’t look as fake as she fears it might. Thankfully, Grace doesn’t ask any more questions.

She also  has to admit that it probably helps that frankly, both her children are pretty self-absorbed. She supposes teenagers are self-absorbed almost by definition. Zach has barely been at home all weekend, he’s out with friends. Grace is perhaps more attuned to her mother than her older brother is, and she does spend most of the weekend at home – but she is mostly in her room. And when she’s not, her eyes seem to be constantly trained on her phone. 

Alicia supposes screen time does have its benefits after all. Although it  feels like she has reached a new parenting low – allowing her daughter to use her phone at the dinner table. 

She looks at her daughter, who is completely lost in whatever it is that she’s reading on her phone. Grace has grown up so much in the last year or so. She is becoming a young woman. S he realizes she hasn’t had The Talk with her yet. Grace hasn’t had a boyfriend yet, so she has told herself that it wasn’t necessary quite yet. But the truth is that she has just been putting it off because she’s embarrassed. 

And how can she possibly talk to her daughter about birth control now - when she herself is a living example of what  _ not  _ to do? Will is right – they should’ve just used condoms. And  _ she  _ was the one who told him it wasn’t necessary. 

What would Grace say if she knew about the pregnancy? She wonders. Would she hate her mother – and baby sibling - for breaking up her family? Would she be embarrassed because her mother is so old? None of her friends’ parents have young children anymore. Grace and Zach would surely get a lot less attention with a baby in the house.  And what if they’d want to move to Peter’s place? She can feel what little food there is in her stomach rising in her throat just at the thought of only seeing her children every other weekend, and she needs to take a few deep breaths before she trusts herself to keep eating. She takes very, very small bites.

After dinner, Grace, thankfully once again retreats to her room, and Alicia lays down on the couch, too exhausted to do the dishes. If she does have this baby, she’ll have to introduce Will to her children. Not as her boss, but as her... she has no idea what she would introduce him as.  _ Lover _ ? Unimaginable.  _ Father of my baby _ ? It’s not  really much better, frankly. There are so many things they would have to figure out. Such as whether he would start spending the night when she has the children too? What kind of example would that set for her children? 

She tries to picture Will, Zach and Grace around the same breakfast table, but she can’t. 

She checks her phone. Will hasn’t sent her one single message since he hung up on her yesterday morning. He usually texts her every day. Several times. Before, his texts were effectively foreplay. Lately, though, he’s been asking her how she’s doing. If there is anything he can do for her. To his credit, he’s played the part of concerned father-to-be very well. 

Or he did – until Friday night.  She knows  Will has fucked half of Chicago, and she doesn’t really care, but  seeing that photo…  With his tongue halfway down  Giada Cabrini’s throat,  and her perfectly curved, young hi ps pressed  against his… 

She’s been in this situation before. Only this time, she knows she doesn’t really have the right to be furious. 

But ,  she still is . 

_ “What do you want from me? Do you just want to fuck me, or do you want something more?” _ His words from yesterday  keep playing in her head, over again and over again. 

She has three selfies of the two of them saved on her phone. She knows it’s reckless, but she couldn’t bring herself to delete them. She just saved them in the camera roll folder on her phone marked “receipts”. She knows her children would never open that folder. 

Two of the photos are from New York. The first one was taken at night, on their private balcony. Even though they are still both dressed, there is no mistaking the intimacy between them. The second one was taken on the subway, of all places. They didn’t want to get stuck in traffic. They both smile into the camera, and they are sitting far too close to be just coworkers on their way to a meeting. Her hand is resting on his elbow, their cheeks are touching. 

And if those two photos leave any room for doubt, the last one definitely doesn’t. They are lying in some anonymous hotel  bed, she can’t remember which hotel or when. The lunchtime hotels are all a blur of crisp, cream sheets, bare skin, and his tongue, trailing along the inside of her thighs. She is smiling to the  camera, he is kissing her neck. Her skin is flushed, probably post-orgasmic, and Will has scratch marks on his naked shoulder. 

She studies herself more closely. Even though the Alicia in the photo is naked in a hotel room, cheating on her husband, it looks li ke she doesn’t have a worry in the world.

She looks  _ happy _ . 

What have she and Will really been doing? Not just these last few months, but before they started sleeping together, too. Late nights spent working in his office on cases. Sharing beer and a pizza. The looks he sent her. The looks she sent  _ him _ . 

Even back at Georgetown, they weren’t really  ‘just friends’. What if she had invited him up that night in 3L, when he followed her home? She had wanted to – so much. But she was scared. She wasn’t a cheater.  She didn’t want to become like her mother. 

Peter called her the next night. He was furious. Someone had told him about how she and Will had been dancing – and that they had left the club together. The fight she and Peter had that night very nearly ended their relationship, and in the end she had to beg him for forgiveness, promising she’d never be alone with Will ever again.

After a lot of other broken promises on Peter’s part, two decades later, she ended up breaking that promise. She became a cheater after all. 

And as for what she wants from Will? Well, she sure as hell  _ doesn’t  _ want him to fuck insanely rich 27-year-olds. 

She puts her phone down. She is definitely  _ not  _ texting him first. 

* * *

** Him **

Will is almost vicious on the basketball court. Although he’s always been on the competitive side, playing basketball with his carefully selected group of Chicago lawyers, judges and politicians is mostly about fun and connections, not winning. But today, it’s different. There are no jokes, no laughs. He outplays them all, playing far rougher than he usually does, and his team wins by a landslide.

Afterwards, he’s so exhausted he can barely stand. He heaves for breath, just barely making it to a courtside seat. His right elbow hurts after he took a fall, and he suspects he’ll be sporting a nasty bruise tomorrow. The guy who stood in his way will probably look worse, though. 

“What’s wrong, Will?” Matthew Wade sits down next to him. He’s covered with a fine sheen of sweat, a bottle of water in his hand. 

“Nothing. Our team won.”

“You don’t look like you just won. I’ve never seen you play like that before.”

Will grits his teeth. He can feel Matt’s eyes on him. Instead of looking back at his friend, he looks at the basketball court, which is quickly being filled by a  bunch of moderately overweight men in their 50s mainly . He's not impressed by what he sees as they start to warm up. They are slow, unfocused and technically far below average. 

Before he knows it, he’s going to be like them himself. 

“We’re getting old, Matt ,” he mutters.

“Speak for yourself,” Matt laughs. “But that’s not why you ran down Jamie. Three times. The second time, you almost knocked his teeth out.” 

Will runs a sweaty hand through his hair. The muscles of his thighs are burning.  If he stood up now, he’s not sure if his legs would carry him.  “I just have a lot on my mind , that’s all .”

“Work?”

Will doesn’t answer.

“It must be women, then.” Matt chuckles. “It’s only ever  work or women with you. Hey, Will, give me something here,” he pleads. “I’ve been married for twenty years. I have to live vicariously through your numerous conquests.” 

Will can’t help but laugh, shaking his head. “Forget it, Matt.” 

“Is this about a certain beautiful and  _ exceedingly  _ rich woman you went on a date with on Friday?” 

“You have got to stop reading the tabloids, Matt.  They're full of crap.”

“I can’t stop reading them, they might be writing about me. And besides, that photo looked pretty real to me. So, what does the beautiful and  _ young  _ Miss Cabrini want?” Matt asks playfully. “A ring on her finger? Is that why you’re so upset?” 

Will rolls his eyes. “Giada and I were just having fun. I hadn’t even seen her in half a year.”

“So what’s the big deal, then?”

“It’s not about Giada. Well, it’s not  _ just  _ about her. I’ve, uh...” He pauses for a second. “I’ve sort of been seeing someone else for a while. But she’s married. And she wasn’t happy when she found out about Giada.”

“Hey, back up.  So this other woman is cheating on her husband with you, but she’s still upset that  _ you  _ went out with someone else?”

“Wait, you’re not going to give me hell for sleeping with a married woman?”

Matt snorts. “You’ve been sleeping with married women for as long as I've known you, Will.”

“Longer,” Will corrects him. 

“True,” Matt admits. “But this is the first time a married woman has made you lose your shit on the basketball court.” 

Matt empties his bottle of water, then puts it down on the ground. “So who is she?”

“None of your business.”

“Is it someone I know?”

“You know I won’t answer that question.”

“Okay, so I do know who it is, then.” Will doesn’t answer. “Well, if she’s upset you fucked Giada Cabrini...”

“I didn’t  _ sleep with _ Giada.” 

“You’re seriously telling me she  _ didn’t  _ invite you up? After  _ that  _ kiss?”

Will is silently cursing both smartphone cameras and tabloids. Sleeping with married women was so much easier before everyone had a camera in their pocket 24/7. “No, she did.”

“And you didn’t take her up on it?” Will shakes his head, and Matt whistles. “She’s hot. I know I would.”

Will leans back and looks at Matt with a wry grin. “No, you wouldn’t. You wouldn’t dare. Annie would whip your ass.” Plus, Will knows that Matt loves his wife. And whatever faults Matt may have as a politician, he’d never cheat on his spouse. In fact, Matt might be one of the few Chicago politicians who wouldn’t. 

He thinks about Peter Florrick, and the way Alicia looked during the press conference. When she stood by her husband, despite how much he had hurt her. The dull look in her eyes. The tension in her shoulders.

“Yeah, she would.” Matt chuckles. “And you’re right, I guess I wouldn’t. But if this married woman is angry that you went out with someone else – and if  _ you  _ are this angry about  _ her  _ being angry about it – well...” He pats Will’s sweaty shoulder. “That can only mean one thing.”

Will furrows his brow. “What one thing?”

“Love.” 

Will groans. “Look, when did I ever say anything about love? We’ve sleeping together for a while, that’s all. It’s just... complicated. Her husband would kill me if he knew.” It’s probably best to focus on the husband part. He can’t possibly tell Matt that the major component of the mess he has landed himself in is that this married woman is pregnant with his baby. 

“ So stop sleeping with her, then. If you cover your tracks well, her husband will never find out – problem solved.”

“It’s not that easy.”

“You don’t  _ want  _ to stop sleeping with her, huh?” Matt’s grin widens. 

“As I said, it’s complicated,” Will says, his voice exasperated. “And I’m afraid her husband will end up finding out about us soon no matter what we do.”

“Does her husband have a criminal record? Please tell me you’re not dating the wife of one of the drug lords your firm keeps representing.”

“No, of course not.” Will rolls his eyes. “Do you think I have a death wish?  Plus it would be wildly unprofessional.”

Marginally more unprofessional than getting an employee pregnant, even. 

“Then you don’t have anything to worry about. Her husband won’t  _ actually  _ kill  you, he’ll just get really pissed off. Not that I can really blame him - you  _ are  _ fucking his wife after all - but there’s not much he can actually  _ do _ about it that could hurt you. Unless...” Matt pauses, his eyebrows raising. “...  _ U _ _ nless  _ her husband is powerful,” he says, slowly. “Very powerful, even. So powerful he can go after your firm.”

Fuck. He never should’ve said anything to Matt in the first place. He’s way too smart. He also knows Peter pretty well. 

Has he ever talked to Matt about Alicia? He wonders. He does of course remember that time they talked on the phone about the second message Will left her last year. Alicia has ignored the existence of that message ever since – and he knows what that means. But has he ever mentioned her by name to Matt? Not as a lover, obviously, but as his employee? He can’t remember. Did he talk too much about Alicia without even noticing himself? Enough to make Matt suspicious? 

Giada said  _ everyone  _ knew that something was going on between Alicia and him. How could they have been so reckless? 

Fuck. He needs to end this conversation. Right now.

He gets up. “Just... forget I ever said anything, alright?” He mutters. His entire body is aching. Tomorrow is going to be hell. “Can you do me a favor? Don’t mention this to anyone. This whole mess is about to blow up in my face, and I can really do without even more rumors going around right now.”

Matt is suddenly serious, the playfulness from before gone. “Of course I won’t.” 

Yeah right, Will thinks. You’re a politician. He picks up his bag, starts to walk towards the exit.

“Will? Are you alright?” Matt shouts after him, but he doesn’t answer. He’s limping as he goes to find his car. 


	14. Day 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your comments. <3 I have to confess that I'm not used to writing for such a small fandom (I used to write for a huge one), but that makes every single kudos and comment even more meaningful! If we're still here, years after the show ended, it really shows how much we love these characters. 
> 
> Just a quick reminder - this chapter takes place on day 15, which is a Monday.

** Him **

He runs into Peter  Florrick and his entourage in the courthouse. 

Fuck , he thinks. 

Will nods to the State’s Attorney,  so as not to be rude, only slowing down marginally . He’s already running late. And frankly, Peter is probably the last person on Earth he wants to talk to right now. 

He can feel how he starts sweating, and he hopes it’s not visible. He’s pretty sure Peter doesn’t know – yet – that Alicia is pregnant with his child. Alicia promised him she’d tell him immediately if Peter found out.

Besides, if Peter had known, Will would probably be lying on the floor with a broken nose already.

Still, Peter Florrick may be many things – but he is not stupid. Peter knows that there is  _ something _ between Alicia and him. That there has been something between them for a long time. Peter has hated Will from day one, and things didn’t exactly improve after that night in 3L, when half of Georgetown saw Alicia and him practically dry hump each other on the dancing floor. F rom a few comments Alicia has made, Will has gotten the impression that Peter thought Alicia was cheating on him with her boss long before she actually did.

“Peter.” Will smiles politely.

“Will! Good to see you.” 

To his dismay, Peter stops, and so does his entire entourage – including Cary Agos. Will nods to his former employee as well, and they exchange quick greetings. He would ordinarily have kept the brilliant and very promising young lawyer. If Cary hadn’t been up against Alicia Florrick, that is. 

Peter’s eyes widen in surprise. “What happened to your face?” 

Will’s hand automatically and self-consciously touches the bruise on his left cheek. “Basketball,” he explains with a somewhat embarrassed grimace.

“And how does the other guy look?” Peter grins. There has always been something wolfish about Peter’s smile – at least when he’s smiling to Will. Will wonders what goes through the State’s Attorney’s mind. Are you thinking about me sleeping with your wife? Your wife coming on my cock? Are you wondering if she is secretly comparing us? 

“Worse, I hope.” Will answers with a smile. 

He discreetly starts the recording app on his phone, grateful he was already holding his phone in his hand. Dammit. He really needs to be better prepared. 

“That’s the main thing, isn’t it?” Peter laughs. “Making sure the other guy looks worse than you do? Anyway, I’m glad I ran into you today. I was meaning to ask you how Alicia is doing at Lockhart/Gardner.” 

_ Fuck _ , Will thinks.

“She’s doing very well,” Will answers. “She is definitely an asset to the firm. She didn’t graduate top of her class for nothing.” 

“That’s right - she even beat you, didn’t she?” Peter muses. 

“Alicia has always been smarter than me,” he admits, but with a small smile. It doesn’t really matter to him – not anymore. It used to, though. He was so competitive back then, especially in 1L, when he was trying so hard to fit in, to be  _ enough _ . The heated legal discussions he and Alicia had in class gave them both quite a reputation at Georgetown. He had to work so hard just to keep up with her brilliant mind. And he gladly put in all those hours, because it was the only way he knew how to get her attention. Somehow, over the course of those three years, he went from competing with her to being proud of her when she graduated top of their class. Although he never told anyone, of course. 

“I only ask because she looked pretty exhausted last night when I dropped by her apartment with Zach’s algebra book,” Peter says. “I was just wondering if she works too much.”

Alicia would be so angry if she knew about this conversation, Will thinks. 

“I don’t know,” Will lies. “We’re working together on a case now, and as far as I know, her workload isn’t higher than it usually is – but of course, you know all about lawyer hours.” Always combine a lie with the truth, he thinks. “Maybe she hasn’t quite recovered from the stomach flu yet.” 

“Yeah, maybe. Well, it’s good to hear that my wife is thriving at Lockhart/Gardner.” Peter smiles what Will thinks of as his politician’s smile and looks at his undoubtedly very expensive watch. “Her success is most definitely well deserved. Unfortunately, I have to get going, I’m late to a meeting. It was nice talking to you, Will.” 

Peter and his entourage disappear down the hallway, and Will slowly exhales in relief. 

He stops the recording before he enters Diane’s courtroom.

* * *

** Her **

Will doesn’t come into the office until it’s nearly lunchtime - and when he does, he ignores her. Well, that’s not quite true – he does speak to her. In fact, he is... polite. But he acts as if she is some kind of intern. No, that’s not right either, she realizes. Will is always very welcoming to interns. He makes an effort to learn their names, he asks them about their interests and plans for the future – and he always challenges them to learn, even though the vast majority of the interns just stay for a few weeks, never to return. 

But now, he is treating her as if she is... of no consequence. He barely looks at her. He assigns tasks to her, and they do talk - when he absolutely  has to \- but it’s strictly about the case. There is no office gossip, no laughs or jokes. 

There is  definitely no dirty talk whispered in her ear when no one is looking. No making plans to meet in a hotel room. 

Not once does his mask fall. The only crack in his façade is that he does offer her juice and crackers at one point. She declines. 

She also declines his request to go home to get some sleep during lunch. 

“No.”  There is no one else in the room when he mentions it, so she can refuse. If he had faked research or a meeting, and brought it up when some of their colleagues had been in the room, she’d have no choice but to go.

Will doesn’t even look up from his computer screen. “Fine. It’s up to you.” 

He doesn’t mention it again. And as the afternoon wears on, she’s starting to feel the effects of her pride. She’s cold sweating by the time she is in the car, and when she’s finally in her own building, she sees two sets of buttons in the elevator. She goes straight to bed – via an urgent detour to her private bathroom to empty her stomach. 

After, still heaving for breath, she lays down on the bed. The room is spinning, and she blinks as she tries to make it stop. There is a knock on her door. “Are you alright, Mom?” Zach asks. He’s standing in the doorway. The blinds are down, the room is almost completely dark. 

“Yes. It's just... migraine.” 

She doesn’t have migraines, but hopefully, Zach doesn’t know enough about the disease to know how it really works. 

“Would you like me to get you some Tylenol?”

“Yes, thank you.“ 

He's back a few minutes later, with two Tylenols and a glass of water. 

“Just put them on the nightstand, please,” she says. “I’ll take them in a little while.” She doesn’t really want to take drugs right now unless she really has to. Even though she knows that Tylenol is safe for the baby. But still. 

“Okay.”

“Thank you, Zach. Can you get some takeout for you and Grace? Just have it delivered. My credit card is in my coat.” 

“Sure. Do you want me to order something for you as well?”

She feels her stomach start to revolt just at the thought of having dinner. “No,” she says quickly. “I’m not really hungry right now. I’ll just grab something from the fridge later.” 

“Just let me know if there is anything else you need, okay?”

“Thank you.” She smiles to her son, but she can’t help but notice that he looks so much like his father. Tall, dark, handsome - and worried. Peter looked worried last night, too, when he unexpectedly showed up at her door with Zach’s book. 

Zach closes the door behind him, and finally, she can be alone for the first time all day. She takes a few sips of water, and swallows not the Tylenol,  but yet another pill to take the worst edge off the nausea. She lies back down. She opens the zipper of her skirt – the skirt feels tight, and the constant pressure is making her stomach even more queasy. 

Shit. 

She runs her hand over her belly, slowly. It  _ feels  _ flat. She gets up from the bed and studies her silhouette in the mirror, from different angles. It’s barely visible, but her belly isn’t quite as flat as it used to be, is it? And the skirt, which she’s had for years, doesn’t lie. It’s never been this tight. 

She knows it’s not really a baby bump. Not yet, it’s too early. She’s just bloated. But still... It is only a question of time. 


	15. Day 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick reminder - Day 17 is a Wednesday. 
> 
> And I know the progress is pretty slow *lol* but these two have dug themselves into a pretty deep hole, and they're both so stubborn it's going to take them some time to process it all.

**Him**

He’s trying to concentrate on what Kalinda is saying as she presents her research on the Wilkinson case, but his attention is drifting. 

He worked until 2 AM last night. He was partly making up for Alicia’s lost hours, and partly going through the updated report on Peter Florrick. He told the independent investigator to do a comprehensive search – even though he knows that what he primarily needs, is work-related dirt – political, financial or both. Although Peter’s reputation when it comes to women is already damaged, adding the names of more mistresses or even prostitutes to the list would still hurt him. 

The problem is, it would hurt Alicia and the children even more. 

Still, it never hurts to have the full picture, just in case. Peter did have more mistresses - but it turns out the State’s Attorney has plenty of political skeletons in his closet, too. Which is very good news for him, when Peter finds out about the pregnancy. 

He shifts, discreetly pinching his own thigh. The brief pain helps him stay awake. He really needs to get more sleep. Kalinda is thankfully focused on showing him something on her laptop, and looks at the screen, not at him. He kind of wishes Alicia hadn’t told him that Peter has slept with Kalinda. It certainly explains why Alicia and Kalinda, who seemed to be pretty close, suddenly stopped talking. 

He knows it’s not really Kalinda’s fault. She didn’t know Alicia at the time she slept with Peter. And sure, she knew Peter was married – but Peter’s marriage was his responsibility, not Kalinda’s. Peter cheated – Kalinda didn’t. Still, it’s hard not to think about how much Kalinda has hurt Alicia. Even though she didn’t do it on purpose. 

And even though he and Alicia are barely speaking at the moment. 

“Will?” He blinks, twice, and the world slowly comes back into focus. Dammit. He almost fell asleep in his office, and it’s not even three in the afternoon. 

“Sorry, what?” 

“Mr. Theroux, who is the Wilkinsons’ neighbor” - judging from the tone of her voice, she has already told him that - “says he came home from work at around nine,” Kalinda says, gesturing to her laptop, showing him a timeline – probably the timeline she has tried to show him for the last five minutes without him noticing. “Which gives him an alibi for the murder of Mrs. Wilkinson, which - according to the coroner’s report – was committed between 11 PM and 1 AM.” 

“But?” 

“Who says there's a but?” 

“There’s always a but when you look like the cat that got the cream.” 

A smile plays on Kalinda’s lips as she opens another window on her laptop. “This surveillance video from a gas station fifteen miles from his home shows Mr. Theroux – at eleven thirty that night.” 

He squints at the somewhat blurry photo. It looks like an old Honda. Far too old to be the vehicle of a successful businessman – or his wife. “It’s not his car, is it?” 

“No, it’s not. And the GPS on the two cars registered on the Therouxs showed that they hadn’t been driven that night.” She points at the photo with a perfectly manicured fingernail. “ _This_ car belongs to Mr. Theroux’s grandmother. His maternal grandmother, with a different last name. Mrs. Johnson lives three blocks from her grandchild. She has early-stage Alzheimer’s, and she voluntarily handed in her driver’s license last year. Her car has just been standing in her garage ever since. Mr. Theroux has access to the keys.” 

“What about motive?” 

“I’m not sure yet, but I’m working on it. I’m guessing sex, though.” 

“Why?” 

“Nothing was stolen, and she was murdered in the bathtub, which suggests a crime of passion. Besides, have you _looked_ at photos of Mrs. Wilkinson?” 

“Um, yes.” Mrs. Wilkinson was hot. There is no point in trying to deny that he hasn’t noticed. 

Kalinda laughs. “Yeah, I know. I bet that if I just dig deep enough, I’ll find evidence that Mrs. Wilkinson and Mr. Theroux were having an affair.” 

“But if they were, why would Mrs. Theroux be covering for her husband?” 

Kalinda shrugs. “I don’t know. Loyalty, love? The inner workings of a marriage can be difficult to understand.” 

That’s the understatement of the year, he thinks. 

He leans back in his chair, smiling. “We just got reasonable doubt, didn’t we?” 

“Yep.” They both know that the evidence the police has on Mr. Wilkinson is largely circumstantial. Presenting another suspect to the jury is really all he needs. Whether Mr. Theroux actually did it is not really his problem. 

The satisfaction he feels at getting his client off quickly fades as Alicia walks by his office. He stares at the surveillance cam footage on Kalinda's laptop instead of looking at Alicia. She should be at home in bed now, but she’s just so damn stubborn. Ever since they had that fight on Saturday, she’s been refusing to go home for the lunchtime nap she clearly desperately needs. 

He can feel Kalinda’s eyes on him. To distract Kalinda from Alicia, or perhaps it's just to fill the awkward silence - or perhaps he genuinely wants to know - he asks: “Would you lie for your husband? Or your wife. Would you lie to keep them out of jail if they had killed someone?” 

For a split second, Kalinda looks shocked. She’s at a loss for words – which is a first. Then she quickly composes her features, and answers: “It depends.” 

“On what?” 

She shrugs. “The circumstances of the murder. And on my husband – or wife.” 

“Whether or not they’re an asshole?” 

She smiles, a smile he can’t quite interpret. “Among other things. What about you? Would you lie to keep your wife out of jail?” 

“I don’t know,” he answers truthfully. He’s certainly not married to Alicia – but he is preparing to threaten and blackmail the sitting State’s Attorney, so he’s clearly willing to break the law for her. “But if I ever do get married, I hope my wife will be smart enough to cover her tracks better than Mr. Theroux did,” he says. 

“As long as she doesn’t kill _you_ , of course,” Kalinda says, and he has no idea what to answer to that. 

* * *

**Her**

When Alicia wakes up, it’s almost 10 PM. She’s been sleeping for three hours straight. She just barely made it through dinner with her children before she excused herself, saying she had to work in her room. She made up an excuse about some paperwork she needed to file before midnight. She even spread some folders on the bed before she passed out, to make her cover story more believable in case Zach or Grace came into her room. 

She sits up in bed, bewildered. She remembers having a dream, just before she woke up, but the memory is already slipping away, even though she tries to hang on to it. It was something about Peter, and she thinks Diane was there too. And strangely, so was her dad, which doesn’t make any sense, because her father died years before she even met Diane. She was fighting with her husband, but she can’t remember why. But she does remember that for some reason, Diane sided with Peter. 

Her phone must have slipped from her hand in her sleep, because she locates it on the floor next to the bed. Dammit. Three missed calls from Peter. She should probably call him back right now. If she doesn’t, he just might show up on her door, and he should _really_ not see her right now. 

She has a cracker and some water before she trusts herself to call him. 

He answers on the first ring. “Hey, Alicia.” 

“Hi, Peter. Sorry, I didn’t see your missed calls until now. I was working, and my phone was on silent.” Lying to Peter has become a habit by now. 

“I talked to Grace earlier tonight. She’s worried about you. She says you’re still sick?” 

“I’ve been a bit under the weather lately. Probably because of the stomach flu I had last week.” 

“Yes, that’s what Will said too.” 

“Will?” 

“I ran into him in the courthouse on Monday.” 

“Oh.” Will hasn’t told her he’s met her husband, but it’s not really all that surprising. They're barely talking. “Well, I’m starting to feel better. But if I’m not back to normal by Friday, I’ll go to the doctor, just in case.” 

“That sounds like a good plan.” She has no idea how to interpret the tone of his voice. Is he suspicious? Is he just worried about her? “Will you please talk to the children to reassure them? They’re worried about you.” 

She bites her lip. “Yes, of course. There’s no reason for them to worry. I’ll be fine.” 

“Good. So, I hear you’re working on the bathtub murder?” 

“Yes, I’m representing Mr. Wilkinson, the husband. Who told you?” 

Thankful to talk about something – anything – other than her health, she eagerly talks about the case, which has gotten quite a lot of media attention. A beautiful, rich woman who gets murdered in her bathtub tends to attract clicks. After a few minutes, she can’t hide a yawn, and Peter laughs. “Sounds like it’s time for you to go to bed,” he says. “We can talk some other time.” 

“Yes, I’m beat,” she admits. She pauses. “Peter?” she says, quickly, under her breath, before she can change her mind. “Can I ask you something? About us.” 

“What about us?” He suddenly sounds cautious. 

“I just had this strange dream, and it made me think about you. About _us_ . And I realized that I never really asked you _why_.” 

“Why what?” 

“Why you cheated on me.” 

“Oh.” There is a long pause. Peter clears his throat. “I’m not sure if this is a conversation we should be having over the phone.” 

“Why not? I don’t want to start a fight or play some kind of blame game. I just need to try and understand.” 

There is another long pause. 

“Well, I suppose I owe you an explanation,” Peter finally says. “The truth is... I don’t really know.” 

“You don’t _know_ ? You just... _fell_ into bed with a prostitute 17 times? And with Kalinda?” She’s not even trying to hide her sarcasm, and she has to remind herself she said she wasn’t out to start a fight. Maybe Peter was right – maybe they shouldn’t be having this conversation. Maybe she’s not able to stop accusing him. Not when it comes to this. 

“I know it sounds stupid. I think... I think I did it because I could. As a man, when you reach a position of a power, you... start to get offered things. Favors, advantages. Opportunities. Most of the opportunities don’t have anything to do with sex, of course, but some of them do. I didn’t realize it at the time, but I took you for granted. I worked crazy hours, and sometimes it felt like we barely met at all – and when we did, our worlds were so different that it seemed like we had nothing to talk about. I think I stopped appreciating what I had, and instead of looking at _you_ , I... allowed myself to be tempted by the opportunities that I was given because of my job.” 

There is another long silence. 

“I can’t tell you how sorry I am, Alicia. If I could take it all back...” 

“I know. But you can’t,” she says. She’s surprised that her voice sounds perfectly normal. That she’s not crying. That she’s able to talk about this now, with him, without tears. 

“No. I can’t.” 

She looks at the bedlinen she’s sitting on. Cream with small pink flowers. It’s old, but it’s one of her favorites – she took it with her when she moved out from the house. She has had sex with Peter in it, more times than she can count. 

She has had sex with Will in it, too. 

“Anyway, I need to get some sleep,” she says, her voice light. “Goodnight, Peter.” 

“Goodnight. Call me if there is anything you need, alright? I can get you an urgent appointment with my doctor if you wish. He is always flexible.” 

I bet he is, she thinks. “Thanks, but I’m good.” 

“And I meant it when I said I’m sorry.” 

“I know.” She hangs up, and goes to the bathroom. She looks at herself in the mirror as she brushes her teeth. 

Peter was unfaithful because he _could_? 

She realizes that all her life, she’s been surrounded by people who cheat. Her mother, of course. Her brother, her husband, her boyfriend in college, her colleagues, her friends back when she lived a privileged stay-at-home mom life, her friends’ husbands... And now _she_ is the one who is cheating. 

She knows Will has cheated in the past, too. He cheated on at least two of his girlfriends in law school. She wouldn’t be the least bit surprised if he’s cheated on some of the girlfriends he’s had in the nearly two decades they weren’t in touch, too. 

But when Will went out with Giada – when he _kissed_ Giada - he didn’t really cheat. It just felt like he did. They haven’t made any promises. Not that kind of promise, at least. 

And the other promises Will has made her over the years – he has always kept them. 

She quickly brushes her hair before she goes to reassure her children their mother is alright. 


	16. Day 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These two are both proud and stubborn... And more people are starting to notice.

**Her**

“Hey, Alicia – wake up.” His voice is low in her ear. She can feel his hot breath on her skin. 

For a split second, she is disoriented. She thinks they are in bed - his or hers or in a hotel somewhere - and she has dozed off after sex. But then she opens her eyes, her head jerks up, and she realizes she’s fallen asleep sitting on a chair. In Will’s office. Which has glass walls. 

“Sorry,” she mutters, mortified. 

Will’s dark eyes are fixed on hers. His face is devoid of expression. Still. Not even anger or annoyance. “You need to go home and get some sleep.” 

“No, I’m fine.” 

“That’s an order, Alicia.” His voice is low – he doesn’t want anyone to overhear them - but his tone doesn’t leave any room for discussion. “Don’t forget that I’m your boss.” 

Not when it comes to this, she thinks. “I said I’m fine.” 

He sits down again on his chair, on the opposite side of the desk. Carefully keeping his distance, fully aware that they are probably being observed. “You’ve vomited twice today already,” he says, and there is a total disconnect between the neutral, professional tone of this voice and the actual words that come out of his mouth. “If you keep pushing yourself like this, you’ll end up not making it to the bathroom. Are you _really_ ready for Diane to find out? Because I can assure you she will if you insist on working when you are in this condition.” 

She grits her teeth, fighting off a wave of nausea. Dammit. Of course he keeps track of everything she does. Including her visits to the accessible bathroom. 

“Ok,” she finally agrees. 

“I’ll say I sent you out to do some research,” he says. “Go home. Sleep.” 

He doesn’t look up when she picks up her phone from the desk, puts it in her handbag. She stops in the doorway, observes him. If he notices that she hasn’t left, he gives no indication of it. 

“What do you want?” she asks him. 

He finally looks up, and she’s pleased to see that finally, she’s managed to get an emotional reaction from him. His mouth is half-open in surprise, and his eyes darken. He doesn’t answer at first, and she’s about to repeat her question when he finally answers. 

“I want you to start trusting me.” He looks down at his laptop again. “Please close the door when you leave.” 

* * *

**Him**

“What’s going on between you and Alicia?” 

He looks up from his laptop. Diane is looking at him over the rim of her glasses. It takes everything he’s got - all his training and experience as a defense lawyer who regularly bends the truth in court - to keep his face neutral. For every muscle in his body to stay relaxed. 

“What do you mean?” 

“You‘re barely speaking to each other.” 

“We’re on the same case. We speak all day.” 

Diane puts her glasses down on her desk. 

«No, you don’t. You’re barely civil to each other, and Alicia looks like hell. I don’t know what’s going on between you two, but you are her boss. Whatever the problem between you two is, it’s your responsibility to fix it.” 

“Diane...” 

“Is this about Giada Cabrini?” 

Shit. Shit. Shit. 

“No, of course it’s not.” 

Diane lifts a perfectly plucked eyebrow. 

_Shit_. 

He gets up. “I’ll fix it.” 

* * *

**H** **er**

The alarm wakes her up. Grace will be home from school in an hour, and Alicia can’t be here when she does. 

After she has turned the alarm off, and taken a sip of water from the glass on her bedstand, she realizes that she has received a text from Will while she was asleep. Her phone was on silent mode. 

_“Text me when you’re awake. We need to talk about Diane before you get back to the office.”_

Fuck. That doesn’t sound like good news. Still dazed, she refreshes her make-up, then smooths down her hair as she meets her own eyes in the hallway mirror. 

He waits for her on the street, a block away from the office building. 

“Let’s take a walk,” he says, and she nods. 

It’s not really a good day for a walk. It’s getting colder, and it looks like it’s going to start raining soon. She crosses her arms over her chest in an effort to stay warm, shivering. She doesn’t know where they are going, but Will seems to have a plan. When he crosses the street in the direction of a nearby park, she understands. Will doesn’t say anything until they are inside the park, out of earshot from other people. 

“Diane is onto us,” he says, without preamble. Alicia’s heart sinks. “I don’t think she suspects that you’re pregnant,” he says, and even though she knows no one can overhear them, hearing him say the word out loud, in public, makes her panic for a split second. “But Diane has noticed the tension between us, that you’re not feeling well - and she has already drawn the line to Giada. She has all the pieces, she just hasn’t puzzled them together yet. But I’m afraid she will, and soon.” 

“So what do you suggest we do? Tell her before she finds out?” 

“We’ll have to do that at some point, but I don’t think we have to do it quite yet.” She wonders if he notices his own choice of words - ‘yet’. How that implies so many things that she’s been terrified to acknowledge, even to herself. “Right now, she thinks we’re having a fight, and she suspects it’s because of Giada.” 

Well, Diane’s not _wrong_ , Alicia thinks. 

“Diane told me to fix it. Whatever it was that was going on between us.” 

She can’t help but laugh. “Fix it? Is that all?” 

She sits down on a bench. Will sits down next to her. Not close, but at least he’s sitting. “Yeah, I know. I wish it were that easy.” She looks at him, and for the first time in days, his features seem... relaxed. “I promised her I’d work it out with you, so we need to at least appear as if we’re okay. If we don’t keep Diane off my back, she might start digging.” 

Alicia bites her lip. “I think Kalinda knows I’m pregnant. And if Diane asks her to find out what’s going on between us...” 

“... Kalinda might feel obligated to tell her.” 

“Yes.” 

“So can you?” he asks. 

“Can I what?” 

“Pretend that you’re not pissed off at me anymore.” 

She feels a few raindrops on her face. She looks up at the sky. It’s going to start pouring down soon. They need to get inside, before they’re both soaked. “I can.” Anything to put off having that conversation with Diane, she thinks. “Can you?” she asks back. 

He nods. “I think we are both... cooled off enough to keep up appearances. Let’s just try to keep this quiet for a few more weeks, and then...” His voice trails off. 

“Then we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” she says. She bites her lip. “The children are worried about me,” she says. “Grace even called Peter yesterday.” 

“I’m not really surprised your children have noticed that something is going on.” 

A sudden gush of wind blows a few strands of her hair across her face, and he automatically brushes them back behind her ear. It’s an intimate gesture, and he quickly retracts his arm as he realizes what he’s doing. 

She slowly exhales. 

“I know you’re proud, Alicia,” he says, his voice low. “And I know you’re angry with me. I’m pretty angry with you, too. We both have our reasons to be. But _please_ don’t try to punish me by refusing to get the rest that you so desperately need. You’ll just make everything fall crashing down around us.” 

“I know.” She takes a deep breath, and she’s about to open her mouth to tell him something, when his phone starts ringing. 

He checks it. “It’s Diane,” he says. “I have to take it.” He looks up at the sky, too. “It’s starting to rain. Let’s get back to the office,” he says, and then he starts talking to Diane. They have a meeting in half an hour anyway. A real meeting this time, not something he made up for her sake. 

He ends the phone call with Diane after a few minutes and puts the phone back into his pocket. 

“So - truce?” He asks her. 

“Truce.” 

She knows that Will is a good actor - it’s probably part of the reason why he’s such a brilliant defense attorney – but it’s still almost surreal to see the dramatic difference in his body language from just a few hours ago. He smiles now. His shoulders are relaxed, even his walk is different. He starts talking about the case they’re working on, asking her just the right questions so they can have a normal conversation - look _normal -_ just in case someone who knows them will see them. They are just a few blocks away from the office, and they are both well-known faces in Chicago. He makes them look like a name partner and a junior associate who are not having a fight, and who are definitely _not_ hiding an unplanned pregnancy. 

They are alone in the elevator, though, and he stops talking. Stops pretending. His eyes are fixed on the quickly changing numbers as the elevator goes up. She remembers another elevator, in another city. An elevator ride much like this one, but to a different floor. To a luxurious suite with a private balcony, overlooking Manhattan. 

_“This is the happiest I’ve ever been.”_

She tries not to think about the look Will had in his eyes that night. How she _knew_ what it meant, but she refused to acknowledge it. How she refused to – was afraid to - say it out loud. How different it was from the way he studiously avoids meeting her gaze now. 

It was just the two of them, in a city where no one knew them. They could pretend it was real. Or maybe they didn’t pretend. She’s not sure anymore. 

As the elevator stops and they’ve reached their floor, just a split second before the doors open, he lifts his head to look at her. He swallows. 

“I know,” she whispers to him. 

And then they are back to pretending. 

* * *

**Her**

Okay, so she is texting him first after all. It’s almost nine, and she should be asleep, but she’s too wired up. 

“ _Can we talk?_ ” 

Okay, so technically he texted her first, earlier today, but it’s still not the same. Because all he wanted, was to discuss Diane. It takes him almost ten minutes to answer her text. She has almost given up when her phone finally beeps. 

“ _I thought we just did earlier today._ ” 

Dammit. He must be determined not to make this easy for her. “ _We need to talk in private. About everything._ ” 

“ _OK_.” 

“ _My place tomorrow night? Peter picks up the kids at 6._ ” 

_“OK.”_

She resists the urge to throw her phone at the wall. 


	17. Day 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gah, writing this chapter was really difficult. I have rewritten it at least 20 times, and I'm still not sure if I got it right. But I got a comment from Hopelessly Obsessed (thank you!) today, asking me to update even if the chapter isn't perfect, and that made me realize that it will never be perfect, even if I keep rewriting it, so... here it is! An update at long last. Enjoy. 
> 
> Thank you all so much for your comments and your kudos, they mean so much to me. <3

**Her**

She opens the fridge and sighs when she sees its contents. The fridge is a lot emptier than usual. Buying groceries has not exactly been at the top of her list of favorite activities lately. 

“I’d make us dinner, but all I can eat today, is Sour Cream & Onion Lay’s and Diet Coke,” she says apologetically. “Would you like a sandwich?” She asks half-heartedly. Will is lucky if the bread is from yesterday, though. It’s probably older. The children are at Peter’s this weekend, so there was no reason to buy groceries for them. And she hasn’t had one single bite of bread these last three weeks. “Or maybe we could order something in for you.” 

“There’s no need. Sour Cream & Onion Lay’s and Diet Coke sounds... tempting.” She _thinks_ there is a hint of amusement in the tone of Will’s voice, but it’s hard to tell. His features are carefully composed - neutral, as if he were in court. In fact, he looks like he very well could have been in court, not standing in her kitchen. He must have come directly from the office, because he is still wearing a suit. He hasn’t even taken off his tie. 

She also can’t help but notice that he doesn’t have an overnight bag, which he usually brings along when they meet in her apartment on Friday nights. But of course, tonight he didn’t come here to spend the next 48 hours - mostly naked in bed - with her. 

And usually, she doesn’t nervously offer him dry sandwiches on a Friday night. _She_ is usually on his menu. They don’t even go to the kitchen, unless they are in too much of a hurry to make it to the bedroom. 

A memory of him eating her out on this very kitchen counter flashes before her eyes for a second. _Panting, he lifted her up and put her down on the counter almost roughly. He impatiently pushed her skirt up, and tore off her soaked panties, throwing the tattered scraps of lace carelessly over his shoulder. The panties were new, and expensive, in fact she bought them for him just yesterday, and she’d object if he hadn’t already slid two fingers inside her, instantly finding_ **_that spot_ ** _, and his lips closed around her clit as she..._

She hands him a can of Diet Coke to him, her hand shaking slightly. “Help yourself.” She nods in the direction of the half-empty bag of potato chips on the counter. 

If he too is thinking about how he made her cum – three times in less than five minutes, if she is not mistaken – on pretty much the very spot where the bag of chips is laying, he is hiding it well. “It’s almost empty,” he objects. “If this is all you can eat today...” 

“It doesn’t matter. I’ll probably have to find something else to eat tomorrow, anyway.” 

He takes just a few chips, and sits down on the couch. The sound when he opens the can seems very loud in the quiet room. He looks at the can, not at her, reading – or at least pretending to read – the nutrient facts. 

She hesitates briefly before sitting down. She decides to sit down next to him, not in the other couch. But she doesn’t sit _too_ close to him. There is a yard or so between them. 

She bites her lip. She doesn’t quite know where to start. Will doesn’t say anything - he doesn’t do anything to help her out. He just waits. She takes a sip of her Diet Coke, mainly to buy time. 

“So, I... uh... I’ve been thinking,” she finally says. “About... well, about everything. And I’m sorry.” 

“Can you please be more specific? It’s difficult to know what you are referring to when you apologize for ‘everything’.” 

Damn his arrogance. She resists the urge to snap at him. It’s infuriating that he is treating her attempt to apologize, pathetic as it may be, as if it were a case in court. But they have spent the last week or so either fighting or not talking to each other, and it needs to end, because everything is starting to unravel. If she doesn’t control her temper now - and her pregnancy hormones aren’t making it any easier – the truth will be out even sooner. When Peter finds out... 

“I shouldn’t have reacted the way I did when you told me about Giada. It was uncalled for.” 

She studies him closely, waiting for a reaction – any reaction – but it doesn’t come. His face is blank. 

“Yes. It was,” is all he says by way of response. She knows that voice. It’s the seemingly innocent voice he uses in court when he is questioning an unsuspecting witness. When what he in fact is doing, is circling, like a wolf – about to trap the witness with their own words. 

She waits for him to continue, but he doesn’t. The silence is uncomfortably long. 

“Look, Will... I know you don’t owe me anything,” she finally sighs impatiently. “We did discuss being exclusive, but only in the context of not having unprotected sex with anyone else, so we didn’t have to use condoms.” She grimaces. “Which, by the way, was a _terrible_ idea.” 

She hadn’t really intended that to be a joke, but to her relief, he chuckles. _Finally_ a reaction that doesn’t belong in the courtroom. Inadvertently, her left hand moves to rest on her lower abdomen. She can tell that he notices by the way he stares at her hand, but he doesn’t say anything. She quickly tears her hand away from her belly and holds her can of Diet Coke with both hands instead, just to keep her hands still and _away_ from her belly. 

She takes a deep breath. This needs to be said, but it’s still difficult. “I think the reason why I reacted so strongly when I saw the photos of you and Giada was that it felt so similar to everything that happened with Peter. I didn’t think, I just... _felt_. And I’m sorry.” 

His features appear to soften a bit, and for the first time tonight, she thinks she’s looking at _Will_ , her lover and friend - not Will Gardner, top lawyer and her boss. 

“Apology accepted.” His voice is somewhat softer now, and he looks more relaxed as he leans back in the couch instead of sitting like he is at a business meeting. “Look, I know this situation is difficult for you, and that it brings up a lot of bad memories, but it’s not easy for me, either. We... well, that’s the thing, isn’t it? There is no defined ‘ _we’._ ” 

She was hoping he wouldn’t go there tonight. She’s not sure if she’s ready for this conversation. She is starting to feel lightheaded. 

“Maybe that’s part of what makes this difficult to deal with for both of us,” he continues. “We _did_ have some sort of balance, back when what we were having amazing lunchtime sex in various hotels with no strings attached, but then... the pregnancy changed everything.” He sighs. “We’re not in a committed relationship, but this pregnancy still requires total commitment from both of us, and I’m not quite sure how to deal with that. This situation with Giada made it very clear that we haven’t figured out what the boundaries of our relationship are.” 

“I know,” she admits. “I don’t know how to deal with this... deal with _us,”_ she corrects herself. “I just know that we need to stop fighting and start to deal with this situation _together,_ because people are starting to notice _._ ” He nods. She puts her can of Diet Coke down on the table. Her stomach can’t really accept anything right now. “And now that we’re clearing the air - what about you?” She asks. “Don’t you have anything to apologize for too?” 

“I thought I already did, on Saturday.” Arrogant asshole, she thinks, but she can barely hold back a smile, because his response is just so... Will. Always dodging questions. No wonder he became a lawyer. Sometimes she wonders if he came out of the womb crying ‘objection’. 

“You did apologize, _very_ briefly - just before you started yelling at me. Do you really think that can be considered a proper apology when _you_ go out with other women while _I_ am living on Sour Cream & Onion Lays and Diet Coke because of you?” She lifts an eyebrow. “I don’t even _like_ Sour Cream & Onion.” 

“Well, I can’t really blame you – Sour Cream & Onion _is_ vile,” he says. “Besides, I didn’t go out with ‘other women’. There was only one woman. It’s not as if I was planning an orgy.” There’s a twinkle in his eye now. 

She can’t hold back a smile, even as she rolls her eyes. “Well, that’s certainly reassuring.” 

He chuckles, but his smile quickly fades. “I did mean what I said. I wasn’t planning on sleeping with Giada. I’m sorry my actions could be misinterpreted. Probably by both you and her,” he admits. 

“As well as by about half of the population of Chicago,” she points out. 

“Ugh, please don’t remind me. I’ll never hear the end of this from my basketball buddies. Not to mention David Lee and Diane.” He grimaces. She knows that Diane is far from impressed by Will’s endless string of young lovers. 

She can’t help it – she just can’t let Giada go. Even though she knows she should. “If you weren’t planning on sleeping with Giada, why did you say yes to a date with her in the first place? You have slept with her before, right?” 

“Yes.” He shifts uncomfortably in the couch. “I knew what she wanted, but it was Friday night, and I was lonely and bored. And sex aside, I like hanging out with Giada. The wine is amazing, too. She _is_ loaded, after all.” He grins. 

She likes that about Will, actually. Likes that he doesn’t have a problem with going out with a woman who has infinitely more money than him. That the imbalance doesn’t make him feel the least bit insecure. 

“She most certainly is. Giada is also beautiful, she’s young, smart...” Dammit, she simply can’t stop beating herself - and him - up over this. 

“Giada is all of those things, but she is not the woman I want to sleep with.” His voice is low. And that look in his face... His brown eyes are wary, he looks almost shy. She has seen that look before. 

Long ago, at Georgetown, when they said goodnight outside her apartment after he followed her home. More recently, when they spoke after he accidentally said “I love you” to her on the phone - and she said that there was absolutely nothing they had to talk about. When he asked if he should meet her children – and she said no. 

She is speechless for a second, she just stares at him helplessly. 

“Will, I...” 

He could be talking about wanting to sleep with her tonight, or he could be talking about something else entirely. 

He shakes his head. “Look, Alicia,” he interrupts her. “I know you’re feeling terrible, and that sex is probably the last thing on your mind right now. I’m not implying that we have to do anything tonight. That’s not why I came here. And anyway, we’re probably not at a place right now where we should be having sex, don’t you agree?” 

She nods, although she can remember a number of occasions in the past when she has made bad sexual decisions – sleeping with men for all the wrong reasons. Including, at times, even sleeping with her own husband. She remembers several occasions when she was sexually frustrated - or just plain frustrated - because of Will. And instead of dealing with it, she went home and slept with Peter instead. 

Considering Will’s track record, she never would’ve thought he’s more sensible when it comes to sex than she is. 

“I wasn’t just talking about who I’d like to be sleeping with right now,” he adds carefully. His brown eyes are trained on her, his face serious now. He touches his nose briefly, licks his lips quickly - and she recognizes that look. From back in law school, before their first mock trial. 

He’s _nervous_. 

She suddenly realizes that she could break this man’s heart. She has never... Oh, God. For how long has this been going on? 

He is waiting anxiously for her to say something. And she has absolutely _no_ idea how to respond. 

“Will, I...” She pauses, desperately searching for the right words. “My life is a mess. My marriage is falling apart, and I’m afraid my children will hate me when they find out that I have destroyed their family. I’m throwing up pretty much 24/7. And then there’s all this secrecy, which is exhausting - and the pregnancy is precarious, which is _terrifying_ .” She swallows, hard. “This is all so overwhelming. I’m not sure if I’m ready to...” She can practically _see_ how his face closes up. “Don’t do that,” she says between clenched teeth. 

“Don’t do what?” he snaps, and she thinks, dammit. It’s really one step forward and two steps back with him. 

“Don’t shut me out, Will. Please hear me out before you do.” 

“ _You_ are the one who’s been shutting me out, Alicia. You did back at Georgetown, and you have been shutting me out throughout this _affair_ , too.” 

It stings, somehow, to hear how he harshly spits out the word ‘affair’. It makes it feel... dirty. Like the word doesn’t really accurately describe their relationship. Even though she knows that technically, that’s what they are. Or rather, it’s what they have been having. It’s an affair, not a relationship. 

They are not a ‘we’. 

“I know,” she says, exasperated. “I _know_ . And I’m sorry.” She reaches out for his hand. His hand twitches as her fingertips touch his skin, and for a split second she thinks he’s going to retract his arm, but he doesn’t. She squeezes his hand. Hard. Doesn’t allow him to let go. “When I married Peter, I never thought my husband would cheat on me. And never in a million years did I think I’d cheat on my husband and get pregnant with someone else. But it happened anyway. And I’m _trying_. I’m doing the best I can.” 

* * *

**Him**

There’s an awkward silence. He doesn’t know what to answer. He knows she’s telling the truth. She _is_ trying. He’s just not sure if it will be enough. If _he_ is enough. If he will _ever_ be enough for her, when he never has been in the past. 

Every time she has been at a crossroads, she has run back to Peter. 

“So, what I really wanted to ask you today...” she begins, her voice not quite steady. She clears her throat, and tries again. “That is... I asked you to come here tonight because I have been thinking about something.” He’s never seen her more nervous – not even before their contract law final. She looks a bit like a rabbit, about to bolt. Her hand is trembling in his, and she studiously avoids meeting his eyes. 

Finally, she straightens her back. Her eyes meet his. “Do you want to come to the ultrasound on Monday?” The words come out rushed, as if she’s been thinking about what she’s going to say for so long that when she finally does, the words just tumble out of her mouth. 

He’s speechless for a moment. He wasn’t sure what he had expected her to say – that she will be going back to Peter? That she doesn’t think they’d ever have a future? That she has decided to terminate the pregnancy? But he certainly didn’t expect her to say _this_. 

“Really?” He can’t hide the surprise in his voice. 

“Yes.” Her palm is sweaty, and he can feel how tense she is. And he understands what she’s trying to do. She’s trying to trust him. She’s trying very hard, by the looks of it. “I’ve talked to Dr. Halloway, and they can sneak you in.” 

He can’t help but smile. There is an odd feeling in his belly. Something light and tingling. “Like a criminal?” 

“Well, apparently it’s not the first time a man can’t be seen in their waiting room.” She rolls her eyes, and he chuckles. 

“I guess we’re not first to mess up, huh?” 

She shakes her head. “No. I guess not. Although it doesn’t really make me feel any better about being irresponsible with birth control.” 

“I know.” He squeezes her hand. “But for what it’s worth, you weren’t really that irresponsible. The IUD has a high Pearl Index, and...” He realizes that he’s starting to ramble. “Never mind. Thank you for asking, Alicia. I want to be there.” 

“Good.” She looks relieved. “My appointment is at 10. Wait outside – not by the main entrance, but by the 7-Eleven on the corner. Call Dr. Halloway’s secretary ten minutes before the appointment, she’ll give you instructions. I’m forwarding you the address and her number now.” 

She lets go of his hand and reaches out for her phone, unlocks it. He feels his phone buzzing in his pocket, but he doesn’t check the contact he just received. Instead, he brushes a few stray strands of hair behind her ear. Then he threads his fingers through her hair, lightly massaging her scalp and neck. He leans in a bit closer, feeling her warmth, breathing in her scent. 

She sighs, almost imperceptibly, and relaxes into his caress. 


	18. Day 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am currently rewatching season three, and I have realized (too late!) that I really should have considered the timing of canon events before I started writing this fic. Because I didn’t, I will have to tweak the timeline a bit to make the story work. There are some canon events and plotlines that won’t happen – or that will be changed – as a result of Alicia’s pregnancy. But for now, I think it’s enough to say that the conversation Will had with Diane in chapter 16 occurs instead of the conversation Diane has with Will in ‘Whiskey Tango Foxtrot’, in which Diane tells Will to end his affair with Alicia. Right now, we are probably somewhere just before the events in ‘Whiskey, Tango, Foxtrot’ (yes, I did say I’ll have to tweak the timeline). I won’t introduce too many canon plotlines, it will just be too much, but I will touch on some of them. 
> 
> There is also something else I should mention. I haven’t really given trigger warnings so far, aside from a few tags. I know that pregnancy loss and other pregnancy-related topics can be very strong triggers for some readers, and I don’t want you to worry that this story will trigger painful memories for you. I may put Will and Alicia through hell from time to time, but I’m not heartless, because these two are my babies! So I can promise you that Alicia will not miscarry, and she will not have a threatened miscarriage. Having said that, Will and Alicia will talk about pregnancy loss in upcoming chapters, and they will also talk about abortion. 
> 
> Just a quick reminder – this chapter takes place on a Saturday.

** Him **

Her sleeping body is a warm and comforting presence beside him. It is almost two AM, and even though Alicia has been asleep for hours already, he is too wired to sleep. He can just barely make out her features in the moonlight. Her dark, carefully plucked eyebrows. Dark eyelashes against her fair skin. The way her chest rises and falls, slowly and evenly in her slumber. 

After everything that has happened between them this last week, he hadn’t planned on staying the night. He didn’t think Alicia would want him to – and frankly, he didn’t really feel like it, either. But then she asked him to come to her doctor’s appointment. It felt like she let him in for the first time since she found out that she is pregnant. 

It is possibly the first time  _ ever  _ that she has truly let him in. 

Still, even after she had asked him, he had thought seriously about going home. With her nausea and exhaustion, it was  pretty obvious they wouldn’t be having sex - and sex was always the reason they would spend the night together before. Not that he’d mind staying over without having sex, but he didn’t know what  _ she  _ wanted. They were in uncharted territory. 

But a little after nine, when it was clear she was about to fall asleep on the couch and he was thinking about how to tell her that he was going home, she asked him if he’d stay.  Her face was pale and drawn, and she had dark circles under her eyes. She was clearly exhausted.

“Of course,” he’d said – because how could he possibly leave her? 

He has never been able to leave her. 

She probably fell asleep the moment her head hit the pillow. He has been lying next to her sleeping form in the darkness for hours, wide awake, reading sports news on phone. When they first went to bed, it was too early for him to fall asleep. And now, many hours later - at a time when he should  definitely be asleep as well, and long after he has put his phone away - he finds himself just looking at her instead of closing his eyes. She sighs, mutters something unintelligible. Her  left hand twitches once, and she shifts, rolling over from her side to lie on her back instead. Then she falls deeper into slumber again, facing away from him now. All he can see is the back of her head, and her dark hair, spread out over the pillow.

The bedroom is too hot, he really should have adjusted the AC settings. In her sleep, she has pushed the duvet down to just below her hips, revealing most of her body. The thin satin of her slip nightdress is drawn tight over her belly. 

Is  her belly more rounded than before? It’s hard to tell. It might be.  But she was so slim to begin with, and now  she has clearly lost weight because of  the nausea too . 

Is it even possible to show this early?

He closes her eyes, and finally allows  the sweet scent of her skin and the faint sound of her breathing to lull him to sleep. 

* * *

** Him  **

It takes him a few seconds to understand where he is, and what the hell is going on. 

The alarm on his cell phone. 

The sunshine through the window of Alicia’s bedroom. 

Alicia’s disapproving groan next to him. 

“ _ Please  _ don’t tell me you’re playing basketball on a Saturday morning  _ again _ .” 

He tries to dismiss the alarm without really opening his eyes, but instead he ends up knocking his phone down from the nightstand, and then he has to scramble to get out of bed to stop that ridiculously loud alarm. He finally manages to locate his phone under a chair, and by the end of all that commotion, he is definitely awake, and so is Alicia. 

“Sorry. I forgot to turn off the alarm. I wasn’t really planning on spending the night. ” He rubs his eyes, yawning.

“I thought your pickup games are on Wednesdays?” Alicia asks. 

“Ever since Judge Brochard managed to piss off the basket court manager, we’ve only been getting their worst time slots.”

“Did Judge Brochard decide against the manager in court or something?”

“No, Judge Brochard bumped his car.”

“Please don’t tell me Judge Brochard didn’t leave a note with his phone number.” Alicia sounds amused. 

“He did, but the manager was still pissed. Apparently the car was vintage, and he couldn’t find the right shade of paint.”

Alicia rolls her eyes. ” Gotta love Chicago. Have you tried giving the manager a few bottles of expensive liquor?”

“Maybe I’ll give it a try.”

He lays back down on the bed, trying to clear his head as he inwardly curses himself for falling asleep far too late last night, and for not setting an earlier alarm. He won’t have time to go home to take a shower and change before the basketball game. He always keeps a bag with workout clothes in his car, though. With his crazy hours, you never know when the opportunity to go for a run will arise. 

The thin strap of Alicia’s nightdress has slipped off her right shoulder. 

He doesn’t think Alicia is aware of it herself, but she always looks so beautiful in the morning, with her face devoid of makeup and messy hair. His cock – which was already half-hard because,  well - morning - twitches at the sight of her, and he hopes she doesn’t notice. 

“Do you  _ have  _ to go?” 

To his surprise, she slowly slides her left hand across his naked abdomen, following the thin strip of dark hair, and there is no mistaking what her intentions are. Her index finger trails lightly along his length through the thin cotton of his boxer briefs, and  _ fuck _ , it’s been two weeks. He  has to suppress a groan. 

“I promised I’d be there today,” he says.

* * *

** Her **

She can feel through the fabric that he is almost fully erect already. A small, but quickly spreading wet spot where the head of his cock must be shows her just how turned  on he is. 

Not that she can blame him, really. They haven’t had sex in, what - two weeks? Almost overnight, they went from hot and frequent lunchtime sex, to him covering up for her lunchtime naps. That is  _ not  _ usually how affairs go.

But she knows what rejection sounds like. Despite his body’s reaction, the apologetic tone of his voice does not suggest that he wants this to go any further. When she touches him, she is usually rewarded by a  _ very  _ enthusiastic response - both verbal and non-verbal. 

He doesn’t inform her that he is leaving her bed to play basketball. 

She pulls her hand back, quickly, as if she has been burned. 

“Alicia...” 

“It’s okay,” she says, sitting up. The nausea, which was for once forgotten just a few moments ago, suddenly comes rushing back. She needs to  concentrate on breathing slowly, her mouth half-open, to avoid having to run to the bathroom.

“No, it’s clearly not okay.” Will sits up in bed too. “It’s not that I don’t want to. Obviously,” he says, with a somewhat embarrassed smile and a quick glance in the direction of his erect cock, the outline of which is clearly visible through his boxer briefs. “I just think we should take this a bit... slow.  _ Slower,”  _ he corrects himself. “Besides, I don’t want you to think that we...  _ have  _ to do anything.”

She furrows her brow. “Did you think I touched you out of... obligation?”

“No. But I know you’re not well. You’re almost about to vomit right now, aren’t you?” Her gaze flicks to the floor. “I don’t want to do this if you’re not really into it,” he continues. 

“I  _ am  _ into it,” she objects. “Or I was, until you rejected me. It’s just that a wave of nausea comes on very suddenly sometimes.” It’s only half the truth, though, and it must show in her face, because Will does not look convinced. 

And she remembers what he wants. He wants her to trust him. She bites her lip. “If we’re not just having sex anymore – then what  _ are  _ we?” she asks, her voice low.

“I don’t know.” His index finger lightly traces a pattern on the skin of her forearm. A complex and seemingly random series of small circles and loops. He takes a deep breath. “I asked you to trust me, so I suppose I need to trust you back.” He pauses, lightly kissing the skin of her arm, where he was tracing patterns just seconds ago. “The truth is, it’s all up to you. I’ll probably say yes to anything you suggest. I’ll be what you want me to be.” Her head is spinning, but she doesn’t ask him to clarify. She’s not sure she’s ready for him to. “I want to be clear about one thing though, so there is no confusion,” he continues. “I don’t think day will  _ ever  _ come when I won't want you,” he says, his hand caressing her back now as he has moved closer to her. “That’s  _ not  _ the reason why I turned you down. Okay?”

She nods, wondering how Will developed this almost uncanny ability to pick up on the insecurities that are still lingering from the infidelity and the ugly ending of her marriage. From the vicious and degrading lies she had to endure from the press and on the internet. From her parents’ failed marriage.

“Besides, I have a left hand that works just fine,” he adds with a wry smile. 

For a split second, she can’t help picturing Will pumping his cock, hard and fast. 

Perhaps in the shower. Yes,  _ definitely  _ in the shower. She imagines the hot water cascading over his toned body. He clenches his jaw, the way he always does when he’s close, his abdominal muscles contract, and he moans her name as his cum... 

A breathy “oh” is all she finds sufficient air in her lungs to say. 

For some reason, she has never asked him to jerk off in front of her. She wonders why she hasn’t. She most definitely should have.

“I think we both need to let this sink in first,” he continues, and she realizes that unlike her, Will isn’t thinking about sex. He isn’t imagining her writhing underneath him. Or on top of him. “Besides, I have to feed you.” 

“Feed me?”

“Yes, you need to eat something more substantial than Lay’s and Diet Coke.” 

“I don’t know if I can keep anything else down,” she admits.

“We’ll find out.” He kisses her forehead. “I’ll be back in a few hours, okay? And then we’ll see where this goes.” He grins and tilts his head slightly. “By the way,” he continues, his voice darker now as he lightly, teasingly, touches the skin of her outer thigh, his fingers slipping  _ just  _ below the hem of her slip. “I’ve heard that pregnant women’s libidos go through the roof in the second trimester. So I guess we both have a lot to look forward to, right?”

There is so much underneath his words, so much that he is not saying - yet it is only thinly veiled. There is not only the assumption that they will keep sleeping together. But there is also the hope – or assumption, even - but there will even  _ be  _ a second trimester. 

His words imply that he doesn’t acknowledge the ever-looming risk of miscarriage. Or the risk that one of the prenatal screening tests she will take in a few weeks will come back positive, which will make her have to reevaluate the situation. In fact, they haven’t discussed her decision to say yes to prenatal testing in the first place - and she has no idea how he feels about that. 

She hasn’t even explicitly said that she will keep the baby, even if all the tests come back negative. It has all just been implied. Which has probably been their problem all along. 

She decides not to go there, though. Not now that they have finally started talking again.  So she needs to steer the conversation to a safer topic, at least for now. 

“You’ve  _ heard _ ?” She playfully asks, raising a teasing eyebrow, a smile playing on her lips. 

“Well, I’ve  _ read _ . I obviously can’t talk to anyone about sleeping with a pregnant woman without rousing suspicion,” he says, and she laughs. “It seems like reading up is all I can do about this these days. That, and pull rank on you to make you take a nap, even when you look like you’d rather strangle me.”

“And you can feed me.”

“And I can feed you,” he agrees.  He looks at his phone. “Shit, I’m going to be late.” 

His clothes are usually strewn across her floor in the morning – but now, they are hanging neatly over a chair. Yet another side to Will Gardner she didn’t know about until  now, she realizes. 

She studies him as he gets dressed. Everything about him looks out of place on a Saturday morning, as he puts on the wrinkled shirt from yesterday and his designer suit pants. His dark stubbles are very noticeable in the morning light. He leaves his suit jacket and tie on the chair. She really hopes he doesn’t run into anyone he knows – not to mention her neighbors - before he changes for the game. If he does, it will be painfully obvious that Will didn’t sleep in his own bed last night. 

* * *

** Him **

He arrives late. Which wouldn’t really be a problem, if he’d had his keycard to the locker rooms. But his keycard is at home, which means he  has to borrow one to change. He is very much aware of the fact that he is unshaved and wearing the clothes he wore to work yesterday. At 10 AM on a Saturday morning. 

It can pretty much mean only one thing.

The others have already started playing, but the game comes to an abrupt halt when they see him. Matt whistles loudly, and the others aren’t even trying to conceal their snickers.

“Doing the walk of shame, Gardner?” Matt smirks.

Will grits his teeth, silently cursing Judge  Brochard’s lack of parking skills, and that goddamn vintage car. 

“ So who’s the lucky girl?” Terrence Wilkins, top lawyer and name partner at Anderson, Wilkins and Associates, laughs. “Is the beautiful Miss Cabrini back in town, or is it someone new this week?”

“Must be someone new,” Judge Davies says. “Giada Cabrini posted from Tokyo on her Instagram last night.”

“You follow  Giada Cabrini on Instagram, Davies?” Judge  Brochard guffaws. 

“Shut up.” Judge Davies throws the ball in the general direction of Judge Brochard’s head, eliciting even more laughter.

“Well, whoever she is, she must’ve been special. Look, Gardner’s blushing! Isn’t that  _ adorable _ ?” Terrence Wilkins laughs.

Will borrows a keycard, quickly changes clothes, and does his best to ignore the teasing - which is constant, throughout the game. He doesn’t play very well – he is distracted, wondering what Alicia might be able to keep down. His team loses. And he doesn’t really care. 

After the  game , Matt tells him: “You should get laid more often, Will. Makes it easier for the other team to win when you’re not sexually frustrated .”

“Fuck you, Matt .” 

* * *

** Her **

He’s back at around two. He must have been home first, because he is wearing jeans and a t-shirt. And this time, he is bringing an overnight bag. 

He is also bringing groceries. Lots of groceries. 

“I didn’t know what you’d be able to eat today,” he says, as he starts to put the food in her fridge. He doesn’t ask her if it’s alright or what goes where, he just does it – as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. “So I  chumhummed food pregnant women struggling with nausea can usually eat, chose six of the recipes I liked, and bought the ingredients for all of them. Hopefully one of them will work for you.” 

She just stares at him, speechless. 

“So, do you think you can eat chicken wraps, kale quinoa salad, or eggs and avocado  toast?Or maybe Greek lemon soup with chicken, bean tacos, or oven roasted chicken with green beans and sweet potatoes?”

She doesn’t quite believe what she’s hearing. “You’re going to  _ cook _ ?” She asks, bewildered. 

“Yes.” Will shrugs.

She just stares at him. 

“I  _ can  _ cook, you know.” And she remembers the omelette he made her, at Georgetown all those years ago, when they were pulling an all-nighter. “I have it on good authority that I’m actually pretty good at it.”

“What good authority?” If he answers ‘Tammy’, or ‘Celeste’, or ‘ Giada ’, so help him God. 

“My sisters.” Good answer, she thinks. “Oh, and I got you this, to keep you going while I cook.” He hands her a plastic cup. 

“What is it?”

“A coconut water and banana smoothie with ginger. It keeps you hydrated, replenishes your electrolytes, and the ginger is supposed to help for the nausea.” 

“Thank you,” she says, stunned. She has known Will Gardner for many years, but never has he surprised her the way he has this afternoon. She takes a sip of the smoothie, and decides she thinks she can keep it down. It even tastes almost... refreshing. Which isn’t something she can say for most foods these days.

“So, what do you think you can eat? I’m sure I can whip up something other than those six dishes too if you feel like trying something else, I bought lots of food.” 

He sure did, her fridge is almost bursting at the seams. 

This is surreal. She tries to remember wh ich dishes he suggested. “Um, maybe eggs and avocado toast?” 

“Coming up. Why don’t you just sit down and relax, finish that smoothie, and I’ll have it ready for you in fifteen minutes or so.”

She sits down by the counter and just watches him work. It’s fascinating. She has to tell him where to find various supplies or kitchen utensils, but it’s clear that Will is good at cooking – and that he enjoys it. She has rarely seen him more at ease. 

“What?” He says, as he notices her staring at him.

She shakes her head. “Nothing.”

“Please tell me this isn’t the first time a man has cooked for you,” he jokes, as he puts the pot with the boiled eggs under cold running water. 

She could have told him that pretty much the only ‘cooking’ Peter has done is order in pizza, but she doesn’t want to bring up Peter. Not now. Even though Will just opened that door himself. She shrugs. “I just like watching you work, is all.” She smiles. “So, Will Gardner can cook. If I tell anyone at the office, they’ll never believe me.” 

“If you tell them, I just might have to kill you. If Diane doesn’t kill me first, of course, when you tell her how you found out.”

* * *

** Her  **

She hasn’t tasted anything this good in, well – at least two weeks, of course, but it’s probably a lot longer. And the best thing is that she  _ almost  _ doesn’t feel sick afterwards. She mostly just feels sleepy, content and  _ full,  _ which is a relief. 

After dinner, she takes a nap in her bed, while Will does the dishes. When she wakes up, Will is lying next to her. He is asleep, snoring lightly.

She realizes that she hasn’t really watched him sleep all that often. Because of the children, and the secrecy, they have mostly met in hotels for a stolen hour or two when they were supposedly ‘out for lunch,’ or ‘meeting a client’. Their weekends at her apartment – and sometimes his – have been the exception, not the rule. Will also seems to need less sleep than her – so even when they do spend the night together, he is usually the one who wakes up first. 

She rolls over on her side. She lightly bites his ear, running her hand across his chest and along his upper arm to wake him. He groans, shifts in bed to allow her better access to his body as he slowly wakes up. His eyes are still closed, but he makes a content humming sound which resonates deep in his chest.

“Mmmm...’licia,” he whispers huskily.

“Well, now that you’ve fed me...” she whispers back, her hand trailing under his t-shirt, lightly tracing the trail of dark hair she finds on his belly. “I know you said your left hand works just fine, but...” 

He interrupts her by trying to kiss her, but she quickly pulls back. He opens his eyes and frowns, visibly taken aback. 

“Sorry,” she says. “I just... I can’t kiss when I’m pregnant. It’s a nausea thing.” She grimaces. “You can’t kiss my neck, either. And I can’t do oral. I’m sorry.”

“Um, okay.” He looks surprised, but he appears to recover quickly. “I guess I can think of a few other things we can do instead,” he murmurs, the tip of his tongue slipping out to lick his lips. 

“ So can I,” she says, her voice dark. “My left hand works just fine, too, by the way.” He mutters something she can’t quite hear when said hand slips under the elastic band of his boxers and her fingers close around his cock.

* * *

** Him **

This wasn’t  _ quite  _ what he had planned for this afternoon. If dinner turned out well and Alicia was up to it, he had planned to make her cum, preferably at least a couple of times, before he had sex with her. There had definitely been some oral involved too, on both their parts, and – of course - kissing. 

His plan obviously needs to be revised. 

But it’s difficult to think when Alicia has her hand inside his pants. And it’s been so long, and  he thinks, to hell with plans. He just lays back in bed and lets her have her way with him. Because he’s weak. Because  _ she  _ is his weakness - she probably has been ever since that pool party, almost two decades ago. And because her small body is so warm and soft, and he’s missed her, and  _ damn _ , she is  _ so  _ good at this. 

She pushes his boxers down over his hips, helped by him, and she asks him to give her the lube, because it’s in the drawer on his side of the bed. He hands it to her, so eager his hands are shaking. He desperately wants to kiss her, but he knows he can’t, so he quickly pulls off his pants and boxer briefs, throwing them on the floor. He doesn’t bother to take off his t-shirt – there is no time. He is so close already, he wonders if he could come without her even touching him. 

But then she  _ does  _ touch him again, and her now slippery hands are small, but strong, and she knows exactly what he likes, and with the lube, it’s just... Her right hand is cupping his balls, lightly playing with them, and her  left hand jerks him off at  _ just  _ the perfect speed and pressure. She doesn’t say anything, because Alicia isn’t much of a dirty talker unless he talks dirty to her first - and right now, the connection between his brain and his tongue simply is not functioning. All that comes out of his mouth, is indistinct groans and even whimpers, which he hears as if from afar. 

He  cums after an embarrassingly short time, almost as if he were 16 again. Strangled sounds are ripped from his throat as he  cums all over her hand and his belly. 

He heaves for breath as the last tremors pass through his body. He doesn’t remember the last time he came this  hard . Well, to be fair – right now, he’s not in a state to remember much, anyway. 

He blinks, trying to focus. Alicia is sitting next to him in bed, kneeling, her left hand partly covered in his cum. A few drops are dripping down from her hand to the sheet. Usually, she will lick his cum off. She will make quite a show out of it, too. But now, he can see how she swallows, and her face has become pale, almost greenish as she stares at her own hand.

And he understands. 

“Hang on,” he says, and he gets out of bed, on still shaky legs that are only just carrying him. In the bathroom, he quickly locates a washcloth and rinses it in lukewarm water. He returns to the bedroom and gingerly cleans her hand.

“You okay?” He asks after, her hand clean, and she nods gratefully. 

“Sorry,” she says. “It’s just... the smell.” He raises an eyebrow. “Not that there’s...” She is clearly embarrassed. “It’s not about  _ you _ . It’s just... It’s always like this when I’m in the first trimester. I’m  really sensitive to smells, and semen, well... It will pass.”

He  _ really  _ doesn’t want to talk about her sex life with Peter during her first two pregnancies, not to mention how the State’s Attorney’s semen smells. Changing the subject seems like a much better option.

“That was amazing,” he says, kissing her hands lightly , his tongue sneaking out to  touch the skin of her palm . She still tastes faintly of him.

“To be fair, I didn’t have time to do much,” she says, teasing him. “Are you really sure you’re a middle-aged man? Because it didn’t seem like that to me.” 

He throws the wet washcloth on the floor, and quickly, almost roughly, pulls her down under him. Her eyes widen in surprise. 

“Middle-aged, huh?” Carefully avoiding her face and neck, he kisses his way down along the center of her chest, between her breasts, down to her belly. “Get them off,” he commands, gesturing to her clothes. The tone of his voice does not leave room for discussion. 

There’s a hint of a smile playing on her lips, and he knows she understands. He has learned a lot about her over the last few months. One of them is that Alicia isn’t just one thing in bed. She can take the lead, or she can be submissive. She can be playful – she can dress  up, or play role games. Sometimes, she wants to make love for hours – well, she would probably describe it as having slow, but intense sex. Other times, she just wants a quick, rough fuck – or what he would probably describe as a  fairly rough fuck. 

And sometimes, she wants to be dominated in bed. 

He’s not planning on taking it very far - it’s not the right time for that, and she’s not into some of the more, well -  _ advanced  _ stuff he experimented with when he was fresh out of law school anyway. When their lives diverged, and she got married to Peter, while he worked his ass off, gambled, and fucked his way through the women of Baltimore. He’s not into that stuff anymore himself. But he does want to take charge now, and from the way she looks at him, pupils wide and her mouth half open, he is pretty sure she approves.

Wordless, she gets up from bed, and starts to remove her tank top and her sweatpants. It’s not a striptease, she isn’t really trying to be seductive. She simply takes off her clothes just a  _ little  _ bit slower than she ordinarily would. And more importantly - she holds his gaze throughout. Her pupils are huge and black, her skin is flushed. She unhooks her bra, and his jaw drops. Her breasts are fuller already – not by much, but there’s definitely a difference - and her areolas are darker than they were before. He knows it’s because of the pregnancy, because of  _ him _ , and a surge of something rushes through him. Possession, maybe. Or pride.

She must see something on his face, because she questioningly says, “Will?” 

He lifts his gaze from her chest to meet her eyes. “Take off your panties.  _ Now _ .” 

She allows her panties to fall to the floor too . 

“Get on the bed for me. On your back.”

She obeys, and he can tell that she’s breathing faster now. There are so many things he’d like to do to her, do  _ with  _ her, but right now, there is one thing that just cannot be ignored. “You can’t do oral – but receiving oral isn’t a problem, right?”

She lays down on her back, her legs slightly spread.  She is resting her weight on her elbows to look down at him, to where he is sitting at about the level of her hip. “That’s… not a problem at all.” 

“Good.” 

He does want to explore her tits and feel their weight in his hands, because he’s sure they feel heavier now, maybe they are more sensitive too, but he simply doesn’t have the patience. To his astonishment, he is half-hard again already, just from this. He spreads her legs, makes her hold her knees up for him to give him full access. As she  opens up for him, he can both see and smell her arousal. He traces her swollen, glistening folds with his fingers, very lightly, knowing teasing drives her crazy. A strangled moan is ripped from her throat when he briefly brushes the pad of his index finger lightly, so lightly, over her clit, and she arches her back. 

He can’t wait any longer . He  replaces his fingers with his tongue, his index finger testing her entrance gently instead.  “It’s okay, right?” he asks, panting, as he carefully inserts the first knuckle of his index finger into her. 

“Yes!” She says, her voice halfway between a whisper and a groan, but definitely enthusiastic. 

“You taste different,” he informs her. “You taste...  _ more _ .”

He can feel how she freezes under him, how her muscles tense. But not in a good way this time. She holds her breath. “Does it... um, what?” She sits up, looking down at him between her legs. Frowning. "I, uh...”

And he realizes that she has misunderstood. Alicia isn’t insecure in bed, but clearly, she is still sensitive – so to speak - when it comes to a few things. “You taste even more amazing than usual,” he assures her, grinning up at her as he flicks his tongue across the hood of her clit, and she shivers. “You taste  _ f _ _ uller _ . Fuck, I can’t believe  _ I  _ did that to you.” 

He doesn’t know if she intends to respond, but he doesn’t really allow her to. He delves back into her, driving her quickly towards the edge using his tongue, and two gentle, but insistent fingers inside her. He finds that spot inside her, the one he needs to carefully, oh so carefully stroke  _ just  _ right, to make her fall apart and lose it completely. 

It doesn’t take long – she must be as wound up as he was before she jerked him off. After just a few minutes, he can feel how her walls contract around his fingers, and her thighs are pressed so hard around his head he can barely breathe. He struggles to maintain contact with her pussy throughout her orgasm as her back is  lifted up from bed, her spine arched into a taut bow. Strangled sounds are ripped from her throat as fluid gushes over his tongue and fingers, and he eagerly laps it up. 

After, he crawls up in bed, gently pushing so she lies on her side, facing away from him. He lies down behind her back, lifts her upper leg. He is fully erect now, his cock pressing against the small of her back. There is no mistaking his intentions. “Okay?” He whispers in her ear. Because it’s been a long time, and it’s the first time they’re together like this since she told him she’s pregnant. 

And, well. Because it’s different now. Everything is. 

“Yes,” she breathes, and he slips inside her without hesitation. It’s easy because she’s so wet from her orgasm, he can still feel tiny aftershocks ripple through her. He knows it’s safe for both her and the baby - because obviously, he has read up on this too – but still, he fucks her slowly, gently. He knows that she is still oversensitive from her first orgasm, and it is also probably just to be on the safe side. 

He doesn’t know how long it takes, he completely loses track of time, but when he feels her contract around his cock – when he hears her moan “ Wiiiillllll ...” as she  cums \- he falls apart too, filling her up. 


	19. Day 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this chapter has taken me so long, but being on vacation with three children is exhausting. :P Thank you for all your kind comments though! They really do encourage me to keep me writing. :)   
> I'll start weaving in some storylines from season three (probably starting from episode 8 or 9) very soon.   
> Just a quick reminder - day 21 is a Sunday.

** Her **

When she wakes up, Will is not there. His side of the bed is still warm, and the pillow cover smells faintly of him.  Of his skin, his sweat, his aftershave. 

She slowly eats a cracker and drinks half a glass of water before getting out of bed. She is surprised by how much better she feels this morning, though. Maybe it is because she  actually had a substantial meal yesterday. 

Maybe it is because she was thoroughly fucked last night. 

She finds him in the kitchen, where he’s making her breakfast. Wholegrain toast with bland cream cheese, chicken breast and avocado. She doesn’t miss how he tries to get her to eat nutritious foods. He greets her with a smile and a kiss on her bare shoulder. 

After breakfast, they don’t really  _ do  _ much. Will works for a couple of hours while she naps next to him on the couch, but mostly, they just... do nothing. She reads a book, lying with her head in his lap while he absentmindedly plays with her hair. He watches a seemingly endless string of matches, sports news and game recaps. They talk, of course, but it’s mostly about superficial things – the results of the games he is watching on TV. The book she is reading. International anti-doping rules, when yet another athlete is caught. That Zach is considering going to Georgetown.

They do not, however, discuss what they talked about yesterday. She supposes they should – things between them are still complicated, to say the least. His words from yesterday keep playing in her head, over and over again - “ _ I’ll be what you want me to be. _ ” 

She doesn’t bring it up, because she has no idea what to say. She realizes she doesn’t really  _ want _ to have __ the power so singlehandedly decide the nature and extent of their relationship.

She supposes that in any healthy relationship, either party  has the opportunity to decide both whether to build a relationship – and whether to walk away. A relationship can certainly be ended unilaterally. She knows that if she had asked for a divorce when Peter cheated on her, she would have gotten it. 

But she didn’t. 

Embarking on a new relationship is different, though. It is something you talk about and agree upon  _ together _ . But Will has made it her decision only, and it doesn’t feel right. She tries to focus on the book she is reading, but she realizes she has no recollection of the last ten or fifteen pages she read. 

She thinks back to a warm summer night by the pool. Droplets of chlorinated water were drying on the naked skin of his upper body as he downed a beer, a smile on his face. 

To  stolen glances in the library. He probably didn’t think she noticed him looking when he thought she was studying, but she always did. 

To when she, against her better judgement, invited Peter to a 3L party. Peter, who was already a  first year associate at a law firm in Chicago had come to visit her. She figured they couldn’t  _ just  _ stay in and have sex all weekend – although she would never admit it to him, she wanted to show him off, too. Will – more than a little drunk, with a gorgeous dark-haired philosophy major on his arm all night – was a real dick to him. 

To an elevator ride, many years later, when she was heartbroken, lost and desperate. And then Will was there - smiling, clearly surprised to see her after so many years. Perhaps a little bit too eager. 

And just like that, her life took a new turn. 

She closes her book, puts it down. She turns her head, pretending to watch the football game Will is currently watching instead of reading, even though she really couldn’t care less about football. 

Her life is a mess. It has been for a while – it was probably messed up long before Amber Madison. Long before her entire family was being hounded by the press, not to mention  Peter’s long months in prison . She just hadn’t realized how her relationship – her  _ life  _ \- had deteriorated until it was too late. And now, she has messed up Will’s life, too. She knows Peter – when he finds out, he will go after Will, and he won’t stop at anything. 

She makes herself take a few deep breaths to calm herself down. Obsessing about this won’t do her any good. Right now, she just wants to –  _ needs  _ to - doze off with Will’s fingers threading through her hair, lightly massaging her scalp as his eyes are fixed on the TV screen. 

He makes them an early dinner, because Peter will be back with her children at 6, and he obviously needs to be gone by then. 

After dinner, she leads him back to her bedroom. He looks somewhat surprised, but doesn’t object, and she can clearly see the hunger in his eyes, his face, in his tented jeans, when she pushes him down on the bed, tearing at his clothes. When they are both finally mostly naked, his eyes flutter shut while she slowly sinks down on him, his thumbs digging almost painfully into the sensitive skin of the inside of her thighs. She sits still for a little while, adjusting to his size – she was a bit  too impatient, she should have taken a few more minutes to be better prepared to take him. Will, on the other hand, is clearly trying to maintain control, to keep himself from coming prematurely. It thrills her that she can have this effect on him – that she can make this man who is usually so controlled and in charge, lose control so easily.

He doesn’t open his eyes again until she finally starts to move. She rides him – slowly, deeply. And now, he doesn’t look away. He tries to thrust up to meet the rolling of her hips, but she stills him with her hands on his lower abdomen. 

“No. Let me,” she says, short of breath, and he nods. She can see how the muscles of his arms contract as his fists close almost desperately around the bedsheet in his attempt to keep still. 

He does succeed, mostly. He leaves it all to her. He allows her to set the pace, allows her to fuck him. He relinquishes complete control to her. Their eyes are locked until the moment when he falls apart underneath her and his eyes squeeze shut. Only then does he finally  give up trying to keep still, and bucks his hips up to meet hers, going as deeply as he can when he fills her with his cum. The back of his head digs into the mattress as his body spasms underneath her, and strangled sounds are ripped from his throat. 

She watches him come, feeling both enthralled and empowered. That she can do this, that she can reduce this man - who is so successful, so intelligent, so driven, so fiercely independent – to a trembling, incoherent mess. 

He collapses in bed underneath her, heaving for breath. His eyes are almost glazed over when he finally opens them again. He licks his lips, holds her gaze, but doesn’t say anything. Between them, she feels his seed seep out of her, his cock still inside her. They are both a sticky mess.

He furrows his brow as he realizes she didn’t come.

“Well, that won’t do,” he mutters, trailing his left hand up along the inside of her thigh, which she suspects will be bruised tomorrow. His hand then travels up, across her belly, to her breast. He flicks her right nipple, he does it  _ just  _ right, and she feels something tighten in her belly. “That won’t do at all,” he says with a devilish grin. Then his palm settles on her breastbone, and he surprises her by gently making her lean back slightly. 

“Reach behind you,” he says, still breathless. “Steady yourself on my thighs.” She does as he says, resting her hands on his thighs for balance. And she realizes what he’s doing – he wants to have better access to her. 

His  left hand travels down again, to between her legs, and her breath hitches. Meanwhile, the fingers of his right hand gently tease the inside of her thigh, then her outer lips, even occasionally grazing her swollen inner lips -  _ so  _ close, but not quite there. He starts circling her clit with the fingers of his left hand, the circles keep becoming tighter, and she can’t suppress a moan. His cock is still inside her – he is not fully hard anymore, but it is enough to provide her with stimulation. And through it all, he tells her filthy,  _ filthy  _ things, his voice dark and deep. She had no idea dirty talk could turn her on this much until she met him.

Now he is the one who is in full control of her body. He reduces her to breathless moans, unable to answer anything other than “yes,” and “please” as he tells her exactly what he wants to do with her. Tells her what he fantasizes about when he sees her in court or in meetings. All the places and the different ways he wants to fuck her.

He keeps on the relentless double attack – tactile and verbal - until she comes so hard the contractions in her pussy push out his by now softening cock. It is followed by a stream of a mix of his and her fluids. She collapses on top of him, resting her forehead on his chest, her sweaty, messy hair everywhere as she tries to regain her breath. 

After, she lies still mostly on top of him, with her ear just above his heart. A thin sheen of sweat is covering his skin. He lightly trails his index finger along the curve of her spine. 

She knows he needs to  leave – very soon. If Peter finds him here... 

“So I’ll see you tomorrow?” She asks, still somewhat breathless. “For the appointment.” 

“Yeah.” She can feel his voice as well as hear it, the vibrations of his dark, male voice rumbling through his chest. 

She bites her lip. “You need to be prepared, though. There might not...” Her voice trails off. She clears her throat, then tries again. There may be  a number of things she avoids talking to him about, and she is far from proud of it. But she cannot avoid talking about this any longer. Will is just so hopeful, so...  _ not  _ worried. And although she doesn’t want to worry him unnecessarily, she cannot risk him breaking his heart tomorrow. 

“There might not be a heartbeat ,” she whispers.

* * *

** Him **

Her body, which just a few minutes ago was soft and boneless in his arms, is now suddenly tense. 

“I know,” he replies. 

He has read all about it, of course. He has poured over peer-reviewed papers and meta-analyses, hospital and fertility clinic websites. He has read about odds, probabilities, risk factors, chromosomes, observational studies and various diagnoses, one scarier than the next. 

But everything he has read has all boiled down to  _ numbers _ . Statistics. And what’s in Alicia’s womb is not a statistic. He has carefully avoided reading any personal accounts or stories, even though the internet seems to be bursting at the seams with them - because he knows that at the end of the day, this is their own, unique personal journey. The stories of others don’t have any impact on  _ their  _ story. They are in limbo, stuck between numbers that are meaningless – yet they are not - and real life. 

“Has it ever happened to you before?” He asks, and he feels how she holds her breath for a second. “Sorry,” he quickly continues. “You don’t have to answer that question if you don’t want to. I know it’s... sensitive.”

There is a long pause. “No,” she finally answers. “No, it’s never happened to me before. But it’s happened to many of my friends over the years. It’s more common than you might think. Especially when you are... older.” 

He realizes what she’s trying to do, and he appreciates it, even though her approach may be clumsy.

“Have you thought about how you’ll feel if there is no heartbeat?” He asks, his voice low. Because this is, perhaps, the only thing that they  _ can  _ impact, or control. Not their emotions, exactly, but how they accept their emotions. 

She seems taken aback from the  question, he feels how she swallows hard. Her left hand, which was resting on his upper arm, closes around him. Her grip is strong, her fingernails dig into his skin. He doesn’t think she does it on purpose, but the distraction of the discomfort she is causing is actually welcome. It helps keep him grounded. 

“I don’t know how I’d feel about it,” she says. He moves his other arm around her, holding her close. With his index finger he traces the veins on the back of her hand, and she relaxes her grip somewhat. She exhales shakily and closes her eyes. “I’d probably be... I don’t know. Shocked? Confused. Relieved, maybe...” She frowns. “Sorry. Does that make me a terrible person?”

He shakes his head. “No. It makes you... human. The situation is complicated, to say the least. It makes sense that your  emotions are mixed.” 

There is a long silence. He can feel how she swallows hard. How tense her body is. He wonders if she is trying very hard not to cry.

“The truth is I’d probably be heartbroken,” she finally confesses, her voice low. She looks over at her nightstand. In a double silver frame, there are newborn photos of what must be Zach and Grace. They are clearly not professionally done, and he wonders whether she or Peter took them.

“I had to look through the boxes from our move to find those photos,” she explains. “The frame was a gift from Owen, when Grace was born. It’s not even real silver,” she says, chuckling. “He did say it was suspiciously cheap.” He chuckles, too. “But I had these two newborn photos of the kids, and they fit into the frame. It was standing on my drawer in the old house. When we had to move, everything was so chaotic. I just threw everything on my drawer into a box together with lots of other stuff, and I almost forgot that I had these photos. But then I remembered them a few days ago, and I...” Her voice trails off. “When I look at the photos, I can’t really wrap my head around it. That Zach and Grace used to be so... helpless, so totally dependent on  _ me _ . So new in this world. And that this baby, that it could...” She turns her hand, so they are palm to palm. Her fingers intertwine with his. “I’m scared, Will,” she confesses. 

“So am I.” 

“You don’t  _ seem  _ scared, though,” she says. “You seem so confident. So certain of what you want.” 

He has thought about what it would be like, of course. If there were no heartbeat on the ultrasound. If the screen were to show a seemingly chaotic mix of black and white and fuzzy gray, but without any movement. Without the flicker of a tiny, tiny heart, beating deep inside her. 

He clears his throat before he trusts himself to speak. “There is nothing we can do about it, anyway. So I try not to think about it too much.” 

“That’s probably the most rational strategy,” she agrees. “But it’s hard sometimes.”

“Yes,” he says. “It is.” 

* * *

** Her **

She finds it surprising how easy it has become to lie to Peter and her children. 

The children are laughing and talking and fill her hallway with chaos and lots of bags. Her husband is tall and dark and handsome, filling in when Grace tells her about the  dinner she made for them last night. 

She finds that  not  telling them isn’t difficult at all.

She hugs both her children. Zach blushes and looks somewhat embarrassed, being the teenage boy that he is. But he does hug her back, and when he pulls away, he smiles.

“You look like you’re feeling much better, Mom.” He sounds relieved.

“I am. I guess spending the weekend on the couch was just what I needed,” she smiles. 

Her children disappear into their rooms with their bags, and she can feel Peter’s eyes on her, studying her closely. She is glad she is wearing an oversized button-down blouse. Just in case. “Zach’s right,” Peter says. “You do look much better. You’ve been looking so pale and drawn lately.” He smiles. “That’s good. I was worried about you.”

She forces herself to smile back. If her husband only knew that her skin is still flushed from riding Will Gardner, less than two hours ago. And that she’s been feeling sick for the last three weeks because her lover has gotten her pregnant. 

And that right now, as she is talking to her husband, her panties are wet with Will’s cum. 

“I decided to keep my doctor’s appointment tomorrow,” she says. “Just to be on the safe side.” Always plant a lie within the truth – it makes the lie easier to swallow. She has read that somewhere, she doesn’t remember where exactly, but it makes sense. At the very least it makes it easier to keep track of her lies – because they are quickly adding up these days. 

“Good,” Peter says. 

She quickly steers the conversation towards practicalities - what the children are doing next week, that Zach has an Algebra test on Tuesday, and how Peter is picking them up from school on Wednesday as usual. All safe subjects, things that separated parents who have joint custody  have to talk about. And she finds that her voice sounds perfectly normal. She forwards him a photo of Grace that she meant to send him last week, and her smile doesn’t even feel fake. 

She is a terrible person.


	20. Day 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m sorry this has taken forever, but real life came in the way. 
> 
> This chapter is an alternate version of (roughly) episode 7 of season three – although I am taking some liberties with the timeline and the order of events. Hey, it’s fanfiction, right? ;) There are also some events from E7 that do not take place at all – such as the scene where Will waits for Peter outside the courthouse(?) to confront him.

**Him**

He wonders how long someone can just nervously _wait_ in a 7-Eleven without rousing suspicion. He was here ten minutes early, just in case. He has bought a newspaper and coffee, which was less than mediocre to begin with, and by now it is also cold. He pretends to read the newspaper while he tries not to obsessively check his phone. 

Alicia’s appointment was at ten. He has no idea how this works. He has never set foot in an OBGYN office. Is Alicia going to talk to the doctor alone first? Either that, or the doctor is running late, because it’s nearly a quarter past ten already. 

He tries to look like he is very interested in today’s news while he is, in fact, just staring blindly at the newspaper without being able to take in a single word. The ultrasound is not his only source of stress. There is a lot going on at Lockhart/Gardner these days that he hasn’t told Alicia about yet, but he will probably have to soon - because although she is not at fault, she is still most likely the reason for his problems. 

He is reasonably certain that Peter doesn’t suspect that Alicia is pregnant – but Peter does know that his wife is sleeping with her boss. Will doesn’t know if Alicia has ever openly admitted their affair to her husband, but it doesn’t matter. Peter _knows_. According to Alicia, Peter suspected they were having an affair long before they even started sleeping with each other. 

He can't really blame Peter for hating him. If the situations were reversed - if he and Alicia were married and she was having an affair with Peter behind his back - he would hate Peter, too. But it didn’t really matter to him when Peter was in jail, or later, when he was under house arrest. But now that Peter is back in the State’s Attorney’s office, he has the resources at his disposal to go after his wife’s lover. Will knows he is vulnerable on several fronts – it probably comes with the territory when you have been a very successful defense attorney for almost two decades in Baltimore _and_ Chicago. Unfortunately, Peter seems to have discovered what is probably his greatest weakness - the stupid mistake he made 15 years ago, when he took 45,000 dollars from his client’s account to cover his gambling debt. 

Of course, he could try to stop the investigation by confronting Peter with the dirt he has dug up on him. He does not believe for one single second that Wendy Scott-Carr is actually in charge of the investigation. She may genuinely believe so herself, but Peter must be pulling the strings behind the scenes. He always does. But if Will threatens Peter with dumping proof of his infidelity and corruption online, that would mean showing the State’s Attorney his hand before he even finds out about Alicia’s pregnancy – and then what is he going to do when Peter finds out? He might not have a choice, though, but the timing is tricky. How long can he afford to wait? When will the investigation move past the point of no return? 

Besides, if Peter doesn’t stop the investigation after all, he would have no choice but to release what the private investigator found. He would probably have to release the documentation gradually, in a last-ditch effort to get Peter to back down, but the resulting media storm would be a terrible strain on Alicia. Not to mention that she will be crushed if she finds out about how Peter has been cheating on her since Grace was a toddler. Alicia really doesn’t need that kind of stress right now, and he is worried it might even harm the baby. 

Blackmailing Peter Florrick is turning out to be a lot more complicated than he first thought. 

Finally, his phone rings. 

“Gardner.” 

“Mr. Gardner, I am Lisa, Dr. Halloway’s secretary.” Lisa’s voice is friendly, even cheerful, and he wonders how often she smuggles prospective fathers into the clinic. Maybe it’s routine for her. God knows that over the years he has gotten used to morally questionable practices in his line of work, too. 

Lisa explains how he is to go to the back door, which doorbell to press, and to take the stairs to the third floor. He follows her instructions. At first he thinks it’s the employee only entrance, but once inside, he realizes it is probably a fire exit. The stairs are clearly not in regular use, and there is no elevator. Once he gets up on the third floor and passes through the fire door, though, his surroundings are immediately transformed. The corridors are painted in a soft, trendy shade of sand, and the hardwood floor – how can they even have that in a medical clinic? He wonders - is clearly exclusive. He has spent enough time with rich people to recognize that the tasteful modern art on the walls is definitely not cheap. He supposes he shouldn’t be surprised that Alicia would choose to go to an OBGYN that is clearly high-end. 

He is met by a dark-haired, attractive woman in her early 50s. She is dressed in crisp, white scrubs that are probably custom-tailored, and her name – Lisa Nicholson – is embroidered on the breast pocket. 

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Gardner,” Lisa smiles, shaking hands with him. “I’ll follow you to the examination room.” 

There are no other patients in the corridor, and he wonders whether or not it is just luck. 

Lisa opens the door to an examination room, which has Dr. Halloway’s name on it. Alicia is sitting on a chair, her coat hanging over her arm. A silver-haired man in his sixties is sitting behind a computer. Alicia’s face is serious and she looks tense, but the doctor smiles as Will and his secretary enter the room. The doctor gets up, and shakes his hand. 

“Dr. Halloway. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” 

He knows that Dr. Halloway has been Alicia’s OBGYN for years, including during both her previous pregnancies. He must have met Peter, too – probably many times. And now she is here with a different man, although she is still married to the man he has gotten to know over the years. And still, in Dr. Halloway’s face there is not even a hint of – he's not even sure what he thought he might see. Curiosity? Disapproval? Contempt?

“Will Gardner.” 

He realizes that Alicia hasn’t told her doctor his name or who he is when the doctor says: “Will Gardner as in - Lockhart/Gardner?” He can practically see how the doctor puzzles the pieces together in his mind. 

“Yes,” he admits, somewhat sheepishly. “I am name partner at Lockhart/Gardner, and Alicia is a junior associate at the same firm. I am sure you can understand the delicacy of the situation.” 

“Of course,” the doctor says. 

“Thank you for your discretion,” Will says. 

“Oh, don’t worry about it. It’s our job,” Dr. Halloway smiles, and he wonders if the good doctor is talking about doctor-patient confidentiality – or if he is talking about helping people cheat without them getting caught. Oh well. It probably doesn’t matter at this point anyway. 

“I will leave you three alone,” Lisa says. “Mr. Gardner, may I suggest that you use the fire exit when you leave the clinic, too?” He nods. “And Mrs. Florrick – I will call you in to take a blood sample half an hour after Mr. Gardner has left. I hope waiting is not too inconvenient for you?” 

He is more than a little impressed at this level of institutionalized secrecy, so clearly planned well in advance. 

Alicia looks at him, raising an eyebrow, and he hopes he’s not blushing. He is her boss. She will be late. She is asking for his _permission_. He shrugs. 

“Of course not,” she answers politely, smiling to Lisa. “I’ll wait. Thank you.” 

“Excellent,” Lisa says. “I’ll leave you to it, then. Good luck.” 

After the door closes behind his secretary, Dr. Halloway leans back in his chair. “Mr. Gardner, Alicia and I had a little chat before you came. I hope you do not feel excluded – in situations like these, I do find it useful to have a short conversation in private with my patient before I talk to the father.” Will nods. He gets the message. Alicia is the patient – he is not. He is also not her husband. “Alicia tells me you have been very supportive, despite the... _delicacy_ of the situation, and that you are invested in this pregnancy. I can assure you that we will do everything in our power to protect your privacy, and of course to keep Alicia safe and healthy. You probably have a lot of questions - although Alicia tells me you are very well-informed on pregnancies involving women of advanced maternal age.” 

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Alicia cringe slightly at the doctor’s words. Will nods. “I have done my best to inform myself,” he says. “But of course, Chumhum is not a substitute for your professional advice.” 

“That is a relief to hear,” Dr. Halloway chuckles. “I wish more of my patients would think that way. But I suggest that we do the ultrasound before we get to your questions.” He turns to Alicia. “Would you please undress and lay down on the bench?” He gestures towards a door in the far end of the office. “You will find towels on the examination bench. You know the drill.” The doctor smiles, and Alicia nods. 

Alicia clearly does know the drill, but he doesn’t. What do you do when you are in the office of an OBGYN, waiting for your lover to undress? Do you small talk? Sit in silence? Ask a medical question? 

He can’t think of a single thing to say. He licks his dry lips, and stares at a fetal development chart on the wall. His eyes are naturally drawn to week 7. The embryo is just starting to look human, with a large, somewhat angular-looking head, and budding arms and legs. 

Thankfully, Alicia undresses quickly – it doesn’t take long before she informs them through the door that she is ready. She is in a small rectangular room which contains an examination bench, a large ultrasound machine, a desk with a computer, and a metal table with various rather scary-looking medical instruments he doesn’t recognize. The room has no windows, and is clearly constructed to preserve the privacy of the patients, in case anyone enters the doctor’s office while he is performing a pelvic exam. 

Alicia lies on the examination bench in the middle of the small room, with her lower body covered by a large, white towel. The contrast between the elegant button-down blouse in cream silk and designer suit jacket covering her upper body, and her bare feet with somewhat worn nail polish that stick out below the towel, is striking. 

But Dr. Halloway doesn’t seem to notice. “Please sit down,” he says to Will, gesturing towards a chair on the other side of the bench, the one opposite of the ultrasound machine. “Ready, Alicia?” She nods. She looks pale. 

He has no idea where to look – he certainly cannot look down to where, underneath the towel, the doctor is currently in the process of inserting the ultrasound probe into his lover’s vagina - how do women even _do_ this? He wonders – so he looks at Alicia’s face instead. A slight grimace passes over her face, perhaps a sign of mild discomfort. He can see how tense she is. She is probably as nervous as he is. Without thinking, he takes her hand. Her skin is cold, slightly damp. He squeezes her hand, and she squeezes back, smiling gratefully to him for a second before she turns her head, looking at the screen. 

Then Dr. Halloway switches on the ultrasound machine. The screen is a blurry mess of black, white and gray. Will has seen a number of photos and videos of this on the internet, but he is still unprepared for how chaotic it all looks in real life. How he is unable to identify anything at all. Dr. Halloway, however, needs just a few seconds to adjust the settings and orient himself before he zooms in on something with a few clicks. 

And what Dr. Halloway zooms in on, is something he definitely recognizes. It is a dark circle, surrounded by lighter areas that he knows are the walls of Alicia’s uterus as well as the placenta. And inside the circle, there is a little something which is white and light grey – with a tiny and very fast flicker in the center. 

“There we go,” Dr. Halloway says with a smile, his eyes focused on the screen too. “A heartbeat.” 

Alicia’s breath hitches, and she squeezes his fingers, hard. 

Will just stares at the flicker of a beating heart on the screen, too stunned to say anything. He can feel how a smile is slowly spreading across his face. He squeezes Alicia’s hand back, not allowing her to let go. 

“I will just take a few measurements,” Dr. Halloway says, and he expertly takes several measurements of the embryo. 

“The measurements come in at 7 weeks and 1 day,” he informs them. “Right on schedule according to the date of your last menstruation, Alicia. Now, I will just look around to see if there is more than one embryo in there...” 

“More than one?” Alicia gasps. “But last time you only found one, right?” 

“Yes. Please don’t be alarmed,” Dr. Halloway says reassuringly. “Sometimes it can be surprisingly difficult to identify multiple pregnancies, so I need to look carefully this time around too, just to make sure I don’t miss anything.” Underneath the towel, Dr. Halloway is clearly moving the probe around inside her as he 'looks around', probably to get slightly different angles. He thinks it is so odd, how there seems to be a total disconnect between what the doctor is doing and... He realizes that their relationship has definitely moved past the stage of 'just an affair'. “It looks like there is only one. Which is definitely an advantage as far as the risk of pregnancy complications goes.” 

One baby is overwhelming enough, but the idea of two... It hasn’t really occurred to him until then that it was a real possibility. “One is more than enough,” Alicia says, her voice strained. 

“I’ll just return to the embryo again to give you a better view and print out a few screenshots, and then we are done,” Dr. Halloway says. “There is not much we can see of the embryonal anatomy in week seven,” he explains, as the embryo is back into view. “The main thing at this stage is to detect a fetal heartbeat, and to compare the length of the embryo to the expected length. If the embryo is smaller than expected, it may be an indication that the pregnancy is not as far advanced as expected, or that the growth of the embryo is compromised. But this little one is, as I said, right on schedule.” The doctor goes on to show them the head, the tail, and how the arms and even legs are just starting to show. He prints out a few pictures. Two copies of each one. 

But Will doesn’t notice. He cannot tear his eyes away from the screen which is showing the tiny heart that is beating away inside her. 

**Her**

She had mentally prepared herself for the very real possibility that there would be no heartbeat, but she realizes now that she hadn’t really prepared herself for the eventuality that there might actually _be_ one. 

She is almost glad she has to wait a - from a medical standpoint completely unnecessary - half hour to have her blood drawn, because she needs some time to gather her thoughts before she goes to work. She pretends to read a random women’s magazine, which appears to be all about make-up, dieting and touching stories of “strong women”, while carefully avoiding making eye contact with the other patients. There are, of course, a number of reasons why the wife of the State’s Attorney – who, thanks to said husband’s infidelity, is a very well-known face in Chicago - would be going to her OBGYN. Many of which have absolutely nothing to do with pregnancy. But there is still no reason to draw unnecessary attention to herself. So she tries to look inconspicuous and – in case someone _is_ looking at her - slightly annoyed at having to wait. 

She has had mixed feelings about this pregnancy, but she supposes that at least this ultrasound has helped her straighten some things out. Even though her circumstances are _very_ different now compared to her first two pregnancies, the feeling of intense relief when she saw the heartbeat was exactly the same as the early scans she had with Zach and Grace. 

I guess I’m more committed to this than I realized, she thinks. 

It wasn’t just seeing the beating heart in itself – it was Will and his reaction, too. He was so focused on the screen that she doesn’t think he noticed, but she probably looked more at Will than at the screen. She has never seen him like that before – mouth open, eyes wide as he just... stared. Awestruck and stunned. She could tell that Dr. Halloway noticed, too. 

Will Gardner is not an easy man to surprise or shock. He is always one step ahead, always in careful control of his emotions. But not today. 

She has done this twice before, not to mention that she still has reservations. Will has been committed to this pregnancy almost from the second he found out, and it is his first time at an ultrasound. If this is overwhelming for her, it is nothing compared to what it must feel like for him. 

She quickly types a message to Will. “ _You okay? You looked pretty shellshocked in there._ ” 

He answers back almost immediately. “ _Yes. Just a lot to process. You?_ ” 

“ _Trying to process this too. Still waiting for my blood sample._ ” 

“ _You were right. They’ve done this before_. 😉“ 

Yes, they definitely have. Dr. Halloway asked her about Will before he asked his secretary to call him in. He didn’t ask for any details of their relationship - she supposes the fact that she is still married to Peter but is pregnant with Will’s baby tells him everything he needs to know about her messy situation. But Dr. Halloway asked her what, if anything, she wanted Will to know about her general health and her pregnancy, and what she wanted them to discuss with Will present. He also gave her a brief explanation of her options regarding fetal diagnostics. 

She bites her lip. Dr. Halloway made it very clear to Will that he had been left out of parts of the appointment. 

_“Dr wanted to talk to me before you came in. I hope you didn’t mind._ ” 

_“It’s okay. I understand.”_

She’s not quite sure what to answer, but she doesn’t have to, because the typing bubbles appear almost immediately, and he sends her another message before she has the chance to respond. “ _We need to talk in private. How about tomorrow? Lunch?_ ” 

“ _OK_.” 

“ _Why don’t you nap at my place tomorrow? I live closer to L/G. I’ll come by and we’ll talk after you wake up_.” 

So that means she’ll have to get the keys to his apartment. Shit. 

She swallows hard. But his suggestion does make sense. It will save her at least 45 minutes of travel time. _“Sounds good.”_

She suspects he’ll ask her to keep his keys afterwards, and then what is she going to say? 

“I _’ll leave lunch for you in the fridge. You better eat it. 😉”_

_“Thanks.”_ Typing that does require her to swallow a fair amount of pride. But he _is_ good at cooking, and she does feel better after he’s managed to get her to eat some real food. 

“Mrs. Florrick?” She is interrupted by Lisa’s seemingly eternally happy voice. “Please come with me.” 

“ _Brb. Blood sample_ ,” she quickly types, before she follows Lisa into the lab. 


	21. Day 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am sorry this has taken forever (again) - but at least this chapter is pretty long, which will (hopefully) make it a bit easier for you to forgive me. This chapter has taken me so long partly because, well – life, and partly because the plot is becoming more complex. I need to weave in canon elements, which means I have to rewatch quite a few episodes.   
> I will have to tweak the timeline a bit to make it work - more about that in the notes at the end of this chapter. But hey, you can do anything in fanfiction, right? ;)

** Him **

When he comes home, his apartment is quiet. It always is. But the quiet is different somehow today, because he knows that for once, he is not alone. 

Alicia is here, sleeping in his bed. 

Her shoes are in the hallway. It looks like she just kicked them off. Alicia is so organized, so proper - she is always in control. Whenever he has been in her apartment – mostly during their stolen weekends when Peter has the kids - her home has always been spotless. Her haphazardly removed shoes in his hallway are endearing, somehow. Or maybe it’s just a sign that she was too exhausted to care. A half empty plastic box in the fridge and a fork in the sink tells him that she has eaten most of the food he made, as he more or less ordered her to do.

She is dead asleep. He sits down on the edge of the bed beside her. He allows himself to revel in this, just for a moment – Alicia in his bed. Her sweet scent, the heat of her body. He can’t see her face, it is buried in his pillow and partly obscured by her dark hair, but he can faintly  hear the sound of her even breathing. 

He looks at his watch. It’s almost 1:30. Alicia is supposedly at a meeting, and he is ‘at lunch’. Both of them need to be back at the office soon. They will have to arrive separately, of course. 

He gently shakes her shoulder. “Alicia?” 

She mutters something, which sounds a bit like “Fuck you, Will Gardner,” but he might be wrong. 

“Sorry to wake you,” he says, and she groans.

“What time is it?” She asks as she sits up in bed. She rubs her eyes, runs her fingers through her hair to try to smooth it down. 

“It’s half past one,” he says. “I’ll give you a minute to wake up, okay? Why don’t you come into the kitchen when you’re ready?” 

She nods.

A few minutes later, she joins him in the kitchen. She is clearly still very tired. He gives her a large glass of cold water and pushes a plate with the remains of the food he made her this morning towards her. She takes a small and rather unenthusiastic bite of the chicken and avocado pasta salad, but at least she is making an effort.

“I’m sorry to wake you,” he repeats. “But it’s difficult to find time to talk in private these days.”

“I know,” she sighs. “Between work, and the children, and all this  _ sleeping _ ...” She rolls her eyes, and he chuckles. 

“You do look a bit better these days, though.  _ Are  _ you feeling better?”

“A bit, actually.” She briefly touches his hand across the table. “I don’t know if it’s your food, or maybe the nausea was just subsiding anyway. Dr.  Halloway has apparently had quite a few patients who have started to feel better as early as seven or eight weeks. I just hope that this relief isn’t just temporary.” 

“I hope so too. It’s been difficult watching you go through this.”

“I know.” She pauses, biting her lip. “And I know you’ve tried very hard to help me. I’ve just been so exhausted lately that I haven’t... well, I know I haven’t really thanked you for everything you’ve done for me.”

He shrugs. “Well, I got you into this mess, didn’t I?” he says with a somewhat embarrassed smile.

“Well, as they say – it takes two to tango.” 

He studies her closely. Her hair is still a bit messy from sleep, she has dark rings under her eyes, and he wonders how much weight she has lost. She looks... frail. He knows that if there is one thing Alicia  Florrick is  _ not _ , it’s frail. She is one of the strongest people he knows. But she has been under a lot of pressure lately, and it’s likely to only get worse. 

H e doesn’t want to add to her stress, but t hey really need to have this conversation before Peter finds out. 

He takes a deep breath. “There are a few, well...  _ sensitive  _ things I need to talk to you about. I don’t mean to upset you, and I hope you don’t think I’m being blunt, but after the ultrasound yesterday, we can’t keep  _ not  _ talking about this anymore.” She nervously pushes her food around on the plate, but doesn’t say anything. “What do you intend to do about this pregnancy?”

She looks taken aback. “Are you asking me if I’ll have an abortion?” she asks after a brief pause.

He sighs. “I suppose I am.”

“That  _ was  _ pretty blunt, actually,” she says. 

“I know.” He considers  apologizing, but decides against it. She has had plenty of opportunities to bring this up, too. But she has chosen not to. “You don’t really seem like you are seriously considering terminating the pregnancy. At least not anymore. But to be honest, I don’t really know what you think, because you never talk to me about it.”

She bites her lip. “What makes you think that I considered having an abortion at first?” 

It’s not lost on him that she is evading the question. He pauses, considers his answer. “I guess it would have made sense for you to have an abortion. All things considered. And you didn’t seem happy about the pregnancy at all.” 

She crosses her arms across her chest, glaring at him. “And what’s different now?” she says, her voice neutral, but is there a hint of mocking in it? He can’t quite tell.

“I think that if you were going to have an abortion anyway, you wouldn’t have dragged me into that doctor’s office yesterday to see a fetal heartbeat. That would just have been... cruel.” 

She meets his gaze, holds it. 

“And you may drive me crazy at times,” he continues, when it’s clear she won’t say anything. “But I’ve known you for a long time, and you are definitely not cruel. So I guess that means...”

“What makes you say that I’m not cruel?” She interrupts him. She shrugs. “I don’t exactly feel like the mother of the year these days. Not to mention that I feel like a total bitch for cheating on my husband and lying to him for weeks on end, knowing I’ll break his heart.” She closes her eyes briefly. “I’m sure a lot of people would think me cruel for destroying my family.” It sounds like she can barely get the words out.

Frankly, Will doesn’t give a shit about the state of Peter’s heart. He considers Peter to be the one who destroyed his family - when he fucked that prostitute. And when he fucked Kalinda. And when he fucked the other women whose names and photos are in the encrypted file on his laptop. He really hopes Alicia will never have to find out about them.

“Well, Peter cheated first, didn’t he? And you were separated before we started sleeping together.”

“You’re really good at rationalizing things, aren’t you?” she says, her voice exasperated. “Yes, Peter cheated on me first, but that still doesn’t make it okay for  _ me  _ to cheat too.”

“Maybe not, but you did. And sleeping with someone isn’t something you can just undo.” He shrugs. “Look, it’s not up to me to define what is okay and what’s not in someone else’s marriage. All I know is that you threw Peter out, which to me says something about how  _ you  _ felt about the state of your marriage. Only  _ then  _ did  _ y _ ou sleep with  me. ” He narrows his eyes. “You’re avoiding my question.”

“Dammit, I sometimes wish you weren’t a defense attorney,” she says, and although she still sounds annoyed, there is a hint of a smile playing on her lips. She hesitates for a split second before she continues. “No, I’m not considering having an abortion anymore. I’m not considering it right now,” she corrects herself. “It’s still not a definite no. I have decided to have fetal diagnostics. I talked to Dr. Halloway about it before he called you into his office.”

He is not at all surprised by her decision. He is also not really surprised that she didn’t ask for his opinion before she made her decision.

“I think that ’s a good idea ,” he says. “It’s a high-risk pregnancy.”

“Yes, it is. And I’m glad you’re okay with it, because it’s not really up for discussion. I know we really need to work on our communication, and I think that we are making progress, but some decisions need to be mine alone to make.”

He nods. “I respect that, of course.” He is not used to relinquishing this much control over his happiness, his  _ life _ , to someone else. But it cannot be any other way. 

“I’m not sure what I’ll do if the tests...” She pauses, clears her throat. “I’m not sure what I’ll do if there is… something wrong with the baby. But it would make an already extremely difficult situation even more difficult, and I...” She bites her lip, looks away. She looks like she is fighting to hold back tears. 

“Let’s cross that bridge if we come to it,” he suggests. He puts his left hand over hers, gently strokes the soft skin of the back of her hand. Her hand is trembling ever so slightly in his. “It’s your decision, Alicia. But please – don't worry too much over a hypothetical decision you will probably not have to make anyway. You have enough to worry about as it is.”

“I know.” She sighs, hastily dries a tear from her cheek. He pretends not to notice, because he knows that she hates being perceived as weak. “Being pro choice doesn’t mean that actually  _ making  _ a choice is easy,” she says, her voice thick. 

“No, I guess it doesn’t.” 

“But if I don’t miscarry, and if the tests look good...” She looks very pale now. She pauses briefly before she continues, “Then I suppose we’ll have a lot of explaining to do to a lot of people. Including Peter.” 

There,  _ finally _ , is the confirmation he has been waiting for. It feels like his lungs fully fill with air for the first time since this whole ordeal began. 

* * *

** Her **

She knows Will is trying to conceal his relief, but he doesn’t succeed very well. He nervously touches his nose, and even though it is quickly gone, she  definitely sees his smile. His shoulders relax for the first time since he woke her up.

“And?” She asks. 

“And what?” He looks confused.

“You said there were  _ ‘things’  _ we needed to talk about.” Whatever it is that he wants to talk about, she doesn’t think it can be anywhere near as sensitive as fetal diagnostics and whether she will be having an abortion.

“You need to talk to David Lee,” Will says. 

She furrows her brow. “Why?” Will just raises an eyebrow, and she sighs. “I already hired him as my divorce attorney,” she reluctantly admits. “Before... all this. Before we even started sleeping together. I wanted to explore my options.” 

“I know.” 

“He  _ told  _ you?” She is just barely able to keep her voice calm. If she finds out that David Lee has broken attorney-client privilege...

“David hasn’t told me anything. He never would’ve been the successful divorce attorney that he is if he hadn’t been 100% discreet,” he explains. “He has billed you for a total of 15 hours, starting five months ago.” 

She wants to ask him if he always pays this close attention to the details of Lockhart/Gardner’s billing hours, but she thinks that sometimes, it’s just better not to ask. 

“Yes, he has,” she confirms. 

“David is in family law, and knowing you and Peter are separated, there’s pretty much only one conclusion to be drawn from that.” 

“Do you think Diane knows?” she blurts out. Dammit. She probably should’ve gone to another firm. But David Lee is  _ very  _ good - and at the time, it seemed like the most discreet way of contacting a divorce lawyer. If she had gone anywhere else, rumors would have started to spread immediately. 

“Yes. She’s on top every single bill.” She sighs in despair, and he continues, “Don’t worry about it. Diane, like me, would think that for someone in your position, it would make sense to... ‘explore your options’. She also knows that David Lee is the best divorce attorney in Chicago. She wouldn’t  _ want  _ you to go to anyone else.” He clearly waits for her to say something, but when she doesn’t, he continues: “Are your affairs in order? For when Peter finds out?” 

“Yes,” she answers, although she’s not sure that is entirely true. She hasn’t followed all of David Lee’s advice.  Before her pregnancy, she always assumed if she and Peter would in fact divorce, they would do so mostly amicably - even though it was very clear David Lee wasn’t planning for that scenario. And after she became pregnant and she realized that divorce was quickly becoming unavoidable, s he just hasn’t had the energy to strategically split her expenses with Peter, or document the time she spends with the children, or any of the other things David asked her to do. 

She shudders, thinking about how an amicable divorce is out the window now. David Lee is very good at what he does, but she doesn’t necessarily approve of all his methods. Still, she won’t hesitate to let David Lee use them if necessary. There’s no one she’d rather have in her corner against Peter in court. 

“Good. I don’t mean to pry into your personal matters, but this obviously concerns me too. You need to discuss presumption of paternity with David.”

Dammit, she thinks. With everything that’s happened lately, she simply hasn’t been on top of this. But of course - if the baby is born while she is still married to Peter, Peter will be automatically be presumed to be the father. The paternity can – and would - of course be rebutted – but they’d end up in court. The press would have a field day. 

Or maybe they’ll end up in court anyway. She has no idea how this works. 

“What if Peter and I get divorced before the baby is born?” she says, and just saying the word ‘divorce’ out loud makes her cringe. 

“I’m not sure what would happen if the child was conceived within  wedlock, but born after the divorce is finalized. Family law is complicated and messy, and frankly – I've always done my very best to stay far away from it. Which is why you need to discuss it with David. Preferably before Peter finds out.”

“Okay.” 

He pauses, and she can tell from the tension in his shoulders that whatever it is that he is going to tell her, it’s hard for him. 

“There’s something going on,” he begins. “Something I think you should know about, because I think it involves you. And Peter.”

“What’s going on?” She doesn’t like this. Doesn’t like the worried look in his eyes. His hesitation. 

“You’re still sure Peter doesn’t suspect that you’re pregnant?” 

She looks at him in confusion. “If he did, he would probably be so furious he’d confront me with it immediately, and he hasn’t said a word. He’s only been worried about my health.” She tries to ignore the sharp sting of guilt from deceiving her husband. The father of her children. 

“Thinking that we are having an affair is probably more than enough reason for him to go after me,” Will sighs. She furrows her brow in confusion. “There is an investigation at the State’s Attorney,” he quickly explains. “Regarding allegations that I did something in my past. In Baltimore.”

Suddenly, she remembers what Celeste told her. She said that Will would always disappoint her. At the time, Alicia wasn’t sure whether Celeste was just saying it out of spite, or whether she actually meant it. But she also remembers Celeste’s cryptic statement that long ago, when they worked together in Baltimore, Will had taken 45,000 dollars – but that he had “put it back”. 

“Does this have anything to do with the... 45,000 dollars?”

He visibly pales. “How did you...” He abruptly stops, shakes his head. “We probably shouldn’t talk about this.”

She nods, not saying out loud what both of them know: She could be subpoenaed. 

“What you need to know, though, is that his independent investigator, Wendy Scott-Carr...”

“Wendy Scott-Carr?” she gasps. What the hell?

“Scott-Carr claims Peter has nothing to do with the investigation, but I think she’s either lying through her teeth or she doesn’t' realize that she is being played. Because this has Peter’s fingerprints all over it, and it’s pretty obvious why he’s going after me.” 

Appointing Wendy Scott-Carr is a stroke of genius, she thinks. By appointing his former opponent, Peter makes it seem like he has nothing to do with the investigation. And Wendy Scott-Carr is determined to come down hard on corruption and crime – and she is stubborn as hell. If she thinks that Will is guilty, she will probably never let him go. 

“What are you planning to do?”

He opens his mouth and is about to say something when his phone rings. He looks down at the screen. “It’s Diane,” he says. “I have to take it.” 

“Sure.” She eats a few more mouthfuls of the pasta salad he made her, slowly, while trying not to listen in on Will’s end of the conversation. 

Then her phone rings. 

_ “Mom, pick up your phone. Mom, pick up your phone.” _

It’s Grace – there is no mistaking the obnoxious ringtone. The  shrill sounds are coming from her bag, which is lying on the floor on the opposite side of the kitchen table. 

She is so distracted by thinking about Wendy Scott-Carr and her investigation that it takes her a few seconds to react. 

Will is on the phone with Diane. Diane, who knows - and will immediately recognize - her ringtone. Diane, who thinks that her employee is in a meeting, and that her partner is at lunch. 

She can tell from Will’s wide-eyed, panicked stare at her purse that he has just realized the same thing, and she scrambles to answer her phone, almost knocking over a chair in the process.

“Grace,” she whispers breathlessly. 

* * *

** Him **

He knows that Diane knows. 

Well, he knows that she knows  _ something _ . Diane knows he and Alicia are having an affair. Maybe she already suspected – she probably did – but now she knows for  _ sure _ . 

She is staring daggers at him when  Bob  Lachness , the insurance agent, tells them that they can keep their insurance costs down if they have everyone at Lockhart/Gardner take a sexual harassment class. 

“What do you think, Will?” she asks. 

“I think I trust your judgement, Diane, as you trust mine. You have my proxy.” He meets her barely concealed fury with the stone face he uses in court sometimes - usually when he’s in trouble. Or when he has a  particularly insidious plan. 

Dammit, Alicia, he thinks. Why can’t you just have default ringtones like everyone else? 

There’s a certain irony, he thinks, in that Diane probably thinks he and Alicia were in a hotel or his apartment having sex during lunch break – when in fact, he had barely touched her.

“Good, then that’s settled,” she says to the insurance agent. He tries to leave, but one look from Diane is enough to keep him in her office. And yhen he has to listen to Diane asking Mr.  Lachness a series of detailed questions about the sexual harassment class the insurance agency offers them. The course is going to be a nightmare for both him and Alicia. Which Diane very well knows.

The insurance agent finally leaves, and he tries to, too – but Diane stops him. “I need to discuss something else with you,” she says. “Could you please close the door?” 

Fuck. 

“Can this wait?” He asks. “I’m already running late.” 

“This won’t take long,” Diane says, and he can tell she won’t take no for an answer. 

“What the hell is going on, Will?” She hisses as soon as the door is closed.

He doesn’t answer at first. He sits back down in the chair, looking expectantly at her. 

Diane narrows her eyes. “I know you’re sleeping with Alicia. ‘Lunch’ and fake meetings? Come on. It’s the oldest trick in the book.”

He opens his mouth to say something, but she cuts him off before he has the chance too. “Yeah, Will. I checked with her legal assistant. Alicia has had a string of meetings at around lunchtime lately – and her assistant could provide surprisingly little detail on the locations of those meetings, or who she had met with.”

“I don’t know the details of Alicia’s schedule.” 

This is deteriorating quickly.

“That did at least answer the question of why I hadn’t really seen Alicia around lately. But then I checked  _ your  _ schedule, and I am sure you can imagine my surprise when I realized you’d  actually been _ here  _ at the time of most of those lunchtime meetings. On a few occasions, you had even been in court.”

“I’m sure that must have been such a relief to you.”

“I have to confess that I  _ was  _ relieved at first. But then I realized that’s a really weird affair.” 

She clearly waits for him to say something, but he doesn’t, because he has no idea what to say. Trying to deny the affair just seems insulting at this point. 

“But then I realized that there’s more,” she continues. “You insisted on Alicia working on your case, even though that meant she had to be taken off two other cases. Then you ended up in the tabloids – again - with a woman who is far too young for you - and coincidentally, you and Alicia suddenly stop talking to each other. Ans then you all a sudden seem to have made up, and everything appears to be forgotten. And throughout all of this, you have seemed weirdly protective of her.”

And he thinks, oh well. She’s about to find out on her own anyway. And Diane is his partner. He owes it to her to tell her first. 

And she will never go to neither Peter nor the press.

He gets up from the chair and takes out two glasses and a bottle of expensive scotch from her liquor cabinet. He pours them both a stiff drink. He puts one glass down on the polished desk in front of her, the he sits back down. He takes a mouthful of scotch, feels the liquor burn as it passes through his pharynx.

“Drink,” he says, nodding towards her glass. 

“No. Tell me what is going on between you two,” she insists. 

“Alicia is pregnant,” he says.

He has rarely seen Diane lost for words - but now, she is. Her jaw drops as she stares at him in shock. He just waits, allowing her to absorb the news. With a shaking hand, she gulps down a mouthful of expensive scotch, coughing as the brown liquid almost ends up in her lungs.

As soon as she is able, she asks, with watering eyes, her voice hoarse from the coughing: “And why are  _ you  _ telling me this instead of Alicia?”

“Because it’s mine.” 

Diane takes another large mouthful of scotch, this time without coughing. With her left hand, she holds on to her desk, so hard her knuckles are white.

“Get the hell out of my office,” she says, her voice strangely calm. 

“Diane...”

“Right.  _ Now _ .” 

He finds it best to do as she says. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I already mentioned, I have decided to tweak the timeline. I had to move the State’s Attorney’s investigation into Will an episode or two earlier than it is in canon. In canon, the investigation starts in S3E7, which is the episode in which Diane hears Alicia’s ringtone when she is talking to Will on the phone. In other words, this chapter is an alternate version of S3E7. However, Will doesn’t find out about Wendy Scott-Carr being the special investigator on his case until (I think) S3E9. But I needed to move things along, and hey, it’s fanfiction – I can do whatever I want. *lol* 
> 
> I try not to repeat too much from the canon plots that I need to keep, but I also need to let you know where we are in terms of the canon storyline. So it’s a bit of a tricky balance between boooring and necessary reminders of what’s going on.


	22. Day 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this has taken forever (again!), but I really struggled with this one, and I needed to write most of chapter 23 too before I could post this one.

It’s not even noon, and Alicia already wishes she had just called in sick and stayed in bed today. 

When Will texted her yesterday that he’d told Diane about the pregnancy, she went from panic, to fury, and finally to resignation - all in a few seconds. 

In retrospect, she realizes she should’ve seen it coming. 

“ _ It’s our firm. I owe her. _ ” Will texted her his explanation as well – they haven’t actually spoken in person since they were in his apartment yesterday. After informing her that he’d told Diane about their pregnancy, he suggested that they lay low for the time being, and she immediately agreed. 

And since yesterday, Diane has ignored her. Her boss has passed Alicia’s office  a number of times - but not once has Diane looked through the glass wall to meet her eyes, smile, or pop into her office for a word. 

“ _ How’s she treating you? _ ” she texts Will . She’s trying to concentrate on a deposition she’s supposed to be working on, but frankly, it’s not going very well .

He  texts her back almost immediately: “ _ I’m in the doghouse. Just waiting for the storm to pass. _ ” 

She’s not altogether sure the storm will pass anytime soon. 

Alicia decides she’s not going to nap today. She is not entirely sure whether she’ll make it through the day without a few hours of sleep - but she  _ has  _ been feeling better lately, and going to a ‘meeting’ now that Diane  _ knows _ ... It’s not exactly tempting.  So she decides to stay in the office, and she is eating crackers and chocolate – today's lunch – at her desk when her laptop alerts her of an email. It’s from Diane Lockhart.

Shit, she thinks. 

A sudden wave of nausea passes through her as she opens the email. 

“ ** There is  ** ** something I need to discuss with you. Please come to my office at your earliest convenience ** .” 

She bites her lip.  Diane has never sent her an email like that before. She will usually just knock on her door.

“ _ Diane wants to talk to me _ ,” she texts Will. 

“ _ I guess it beats the silent treatment, _ ” he texts her back. 

“ _ She emailed me. _ ”

“ _ Ouch _ ,” he texts her. “ _ She’s definitely not happy then. Call me if you need me to intervene _ .  _ She’s probably mostly pissed at me, not you _ .”

She’s not so sure about that – after all,  _ she  _ is the one who is married to the State’s Attorney. Not Will. 

_ “Thanks, but I’ll be okay. I guess I’ll just get it over with. Wish me luck _ .” 

“ _ Crossing my fingers _ ,” he texts back. 

She knocks on Diane’s half-open door. Diane looks up at Alicia over her glasses. Diane will usually smile when she sees Alicia, or any employee really - but now, her face is impassive. She takes off her glasses, putting them down on the desk, then leans back in her chair. 

“Alicia. Please have a seat.” 

Alicia closes the door behind her, which she normally wouldn’t do – but this is probably the kind of conversation that is best had behind closed doors. She sits down, nervously pulling her skirt down, feeling an inexplicable need to cover her knees. It’s not that her skirt is ‘too short’. It’s not. But she is feeling like a schoolgirl about to be scolded by her teacher for forgetting her homework. 

Diane waits, just a few seconds too long – long enough to make Alicia feel even more uncomfortable - before she says: “Congratulations.”

It feels... absurd. 

“Thank you,” she answers, after a slight pause. 

“I have to admit that Will’s news was a shock at first,” Diane says, raising a perfectly plucked eyebrow. “But it did explain a lot. Such as why you took two sick days a few weeks ago, which you have never done before, and why you’ve looked so pale lately. I suppose it also explains why I never seem to find you when I’m looking for you these days. Doesn’t it?” 

Dammit, Alicia thinks. Diane has figured out she hasn’t been in ‘meetings’ around lunchtime these last three weeks. 

“ I’m not feeling very well,” Alicia admits. “I need to... well, I know it sounds ridiculous, but I just need to  _ sleep _ . It’s a first trimester issue for me, it will hopefully pass soon,” she quickly assures her boss. 

“I am well aware of the symptoms of early pregnancy,” Diane says. “Although I can’t believe I didn’t figure it out before Will told me.” Diane rolls her eyes, probably at herself, and Alicia needs to bite her lip to hold back a smile. “ However, I looked at your billable hours,” Diane says, putting her reading glasses back on , glancing at her computer screen. “They are about the same as last month.”

“Will has worked extra to make it up for my clients,” she admits, a sinking feeling in her stomach. “We have documented everything.”

“Well, that...  _ creative  _ billing practice stops, right now,” Diane snaps. “From now on, you bill the actual hours you work, and Will bills his hours. We don’t want our clients to suspect billing fraud - and we certainly don’t want the clients thinking they’re getting associate hours, when in fact they’ve been getting partner hours.”

“Of course,” Alicia says, her voice low. 

Diane hesitates. “We do have a good maternity leave package,” she says , the sharp tone from before suddenly gone from her voice. 

Maternity leave. Alicia discreetly dries her sweaty palms on her skirt. She hasn’t thought that far ahead. Not really. She never thought she’d have to have a conversation with Diane Lockhart about  _ maternity leave _ , for heaven’s sake. 

When Alicia doesn’t answer, Diane continues: “And we  are of course understanding when the number of billable hours temporarily goes down when employees are pregnant, ill or are going through a personal crisis.”

She knows Diane probably thinks what she is saying is true. But she also knows that at the end of the day, the associates with the highest numbers of billable hours get promoted faster. She has worked at Lockhart/Gardner for more than two years, and she has lost count of how many late nights she has spent working. It is hard enough to work like that with two teenagers. Doing it with a nursing baby who doesn’t sleep through the night... 

Diane is a feminist, but Lockhart/Gardner may still be less family friendly than she’d like to think. 

Or perhaps Diane is doing the best that she can, but at the end of the day, being a lawyer in a top firm just isn’t very family friendly job. Alicia should know. She has already rejected that life once. What’s more,  Peter used to help her with the children whenever he could. He did work a lot, but he would still always help her when Grace cried half the night and she was exhausted from the lack of sleep, even though he had to go to court next morning. With Will, she has no idea whether he’ll help at all, or what their living arrangement would be. Sure, he seems very invested in the pregnancy, but does that extend to changing diapers at three in the morning? And would he even be there? She has no idea how to tell her children that she has been sleeping with Will, let alone suggesting that he stay the night with her children’s knowledge. 

“That’s reassuring to know,” Alicia answers politely. She will just have to figure out how to deal with this later. 

“And if you need to... nap to function, please  feel free to  do so . You are a valued employee, Alicia, and we trust you.” Alicia can’t help but wonder if Diane wrote a manuscript before she called her into her office. “There is no need to try  and hide  anything from me. But I would ask you to be discreet for the time being. Who knows about this, aside from the two of us and Will?”

Alicia hesitates. “Kalinda - I think. We haven’t told her, but I think she knows anyway.”

“I guess I shouldn’t be surprised,” Diane  sighs , and Alicia wonders if Kalinda is going to get in trouble for not telling  her boss. “Does Peter know?” 

Alicia shakes her head. 

Diane bites her lip. “Has Will told you about the investigation against him?”  Something in Diane’s voice, she can’t quite place what – tells her Diane is probably going off script now. 

“Yes,” Alicia admits. 

“And what do you propose we do about it?” Diane asks her.

“I know that Will has hired an independent private investigator,”  Alicia explains. “To dig up dirt on Peter.”

“And has the private investigator found anything?”

“I think so,” she admits. She swallows hard. “I don’t know what. Will won’t tell me, and I suppose I don’t really want to know. I’m not sure what Will’s plans are exactly, but I guess he wants some... leverage.” 

“I understand.”  Diane abruptly closes her laptop.  “It’s probably best if we don’t discuss this any further.”

Alicia nods. The threat of a subpoena is constantly hanging over them. 

She is not quite sure if she has just been dismissed, but before Alicia has the chance to think about  whether or not she should discreetly leave Diane’s office, her boss continues:  “You need to talk to David Lee.” 

“I know. Will told me yesterday.”

Diane snorts. “Well, I guess Will can be surprisingly sensible – sometimes.” 

Alicia finds it best not to answer. 

“I won’t let your husband destroy my firm,” Diane says, her voice low.

“I know,” Alicia answers, her throat dry. 

“Well, that will be all for now,” Diane says, as her phone rings, and she looks down at it to see who’s calling. “I need to take this. If anyone asks you, you can tell them that I scolded you for filing your billable hours late.” 

“I will,” Alicia says. Diane has, of course, realized that  everyone passing by her office has probably  picked up on Diane’s anger , and her own hesitation and embarrassment. She gets up,  eager to escape  back  to  the safety of  her own office. 

“Alicia?”

Alicia turns around, halfway to the door, and looks questioningly at her boss. Diane puts  the phone call on hold. 

“I’ve been debating whether or not to say this to you,” Diane says. “The lawyer in me says I shouldn’t, because you could easily sue us for sexual harassment.” 

“I won’t sue you,” Alicia quickly assures her, but Diane ignores her.

“I am not saying this as your boss, but as Will’s best friend. Please don’t break his heart.” 

Alicia licks her dry lips, at a  loss for words for a second. “I never intended to break his heart.”

“Oh, I know that wasn’t your intention. But you still might. I’ve seen the way he looks at you. The way he has looked at you ever since your first day here at Lockhart/Gardner.  _ Everyone  _ has seen it.” 

Alicia cringes. During her years at Lockhart/Gardner, she has been on the receiving end of numerous remarks from  a number of people regarding the nature of her and Will’s relationship. Or ‘their thing’, as Cary likes to call it. Oddly, it mostly happened before they actually started sleeping together.

“I guess it’s my fault,” Diane sighs. “I should’ve insisted that we kept Cary  Agos , and fired you instead. It would’ve made everything a lot less complicated.” Diane chuckles. “I told you, didn’t I? I just left myself wide open if you sue us.” 

“I won’t sue you,” Alicia repeats.

“That’s what they all say,” Diane says with a shrug. “Until one day, they do.”

“Diane...”

Diane lifts her hand. “It’s okay, Alicia. Go get some sleep. Bill your clients correctly,  keep lying to your assistant  and everyone else  about where you are, and come back  to work  rested.” 

Her knees are shaking as she leaves Diane’s office, and she needs to concentrate on her breathing to keep herself from vomiting all over the hallway floor.  She decides that following Diane’s advice – or order – to get some sleep is probably a good idea after all. Driving an extra twenty minutes to her own apartment appears impossible in her current state, so she decides to swallow her pride and use the keys Will gave her. 

* * *

** Him **

He is on pins and needles, waiting to hear back from Alicia. Across the hallway, he can see Alicia and Diane in his partner’s office. Alicia sits with her back towards him, and Diane’s face is partly hidden from his view by Alicia, so he can’t tell how the conversation is going. There’s no screaming and yelling – which he supposes is good news – but he didn’t really expect Diane to yell at her employee in the first place. Diane is far too professional for that. She is also very much aware of the fact that if Alicia decides to sue Lockhart/Gardner, they’d be in big trouble. 

When  Alicia  finally  leaves Diane’s office, he makes sure to keep his eyes trained on his laptop. 

A few minutes later, his phone vibrates. 

“ _ Diane congratulated me. Weird feeling. _ ” 

He can’t help but smile. “ _ You okay? _ ” He writes back.

“ _ Yes. I’m going to your apartment to get some sleep, if it’s still okay with you? _ ”

“ _ Of course, _ ” he writes back. Score one to me, he thinks. 

_ “ _ _ I guess the _ _ nap is Lockhart approved this time _ .” 

He sends a laughing emoji to her.  He doesn’t get any more messages, and he supposes she is driving. 

* * *

** Her **

His apartment is so quiet. It feels  _ empty _ , in a way that her own apartment never does – not even when her children aren’t home. 

She opens the fridge – and sure enough, Will has left her lunch. She supposes she should eat at least some of it, because she figures he will probably scold her if she doesn’t. She  drinks a glass of orange juice – she didn’t know she was craving it until she saw the carton in the fridge. As she slowly chews on the  sandwich he made her, she looks around his apartment. It’s squeaky clean and so clutter free it’s almost scary. The colors of the pillows on the couch are perfectly coordinated with the art on the wall. 

Diane’s words keep replaying in her head. “ _ Please don’t break his heart _ .” 

She wonders what Will would say if he knew what his partner just told her. He’d probably be angry – and quite possibly mortified. 

_ “I’ve seen the way he looks at you.” _

When their affair first began, it was easy to tell herself that it was just for fun. That she needed to blow off some steam. That she had  _ needs _ . That she certainly deserved it, after everything she had gone through. The privileged and sheltered life that she had known and taken for granted had fallen apart when her husband betrayed her trust in the worst possible way. She desperately needed something – someone – that was just about  _ her _ . 

When she and Will finally acted on the attraction that had never really gone away even though they hadn’t spoken in more than a decade, it was both exhilarating and  liberating. Where her sex life with Peter – although good – had admittedly become routine over the years, sex with Will was anything but routine. The combination of the excitement of the forbidden and his skilled hands, tongue and cock, was intoxicating. She told herself that it was just sex – okay,  _ amazing  _ sex – but still. 

Just sex. 

And every time she told herself that, she mentally pushed him away a little – which made it easier to  _ actually  _ push Will away when he, in one way or another, suggested that it  _ wasn’t  _ just sex. When he talked about meeting her children. When she said she would ‘pretend’ to be jealous of Celeste, but she could see in his face that he didn’t want her to just pretend.

When he accidentally told her he loved her. 

Eating the  food she until very recently didn’t even know he could cook, studying a modern artwork on the wall that she doesn’t recognize and would never have chosen herself (did Will choose it? Or did he just give the interior designer free reigns and a large budget?), she realizes there is so much she doesn’t know about Will. She  _ thinks  _ they have gotten closer lately. They seem to communicate much better to solve their... well, the problems they now have in common. 

Is she breaking his heart? 

She slips into Will’s bed. His sheets smell of him. She resists the urge to call him, which would be stupid. He’s probably in a meeting. And she has no idea what she’d tell him, anyway. Instead, she finds his pillow – it’s the one that doesn’t smell of her perfume – and clutches it tightly to her chest. She closes her eyes, curls up in the fetal position, and falls asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this chapter wasn't smutty (either!), but the smut will return soon, I promise. ;)


	23. Day 25 - part one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It feels like I am starting every chapter with “I’m sorry this has taken forever” - and now I’m doing it again! *hides* After weeks of frustration, I finally realized that I have to split this chapter. 10,000+ words is just too long. These two have so many issues, and besides, well... – smut. ;) So here is (finally!) day 25 (which is a Thursday, by the way) - part one. 
> 
> Part two is more or less done, it just needs some (okay, lots of) editing, so hopefully you won’t have to wait more than a week or two for the rest. :)

**Her**

Alicia decides it’s probably best to just get it over with. 

She knocks on David Lee’s door. He looks up at her from behind his desk. “Can I have a word?” she asks. 

“Certainly.” She closes the door behind her. She definitely doesn’t want anyone to overhear this conversation. 

“Ah.” David Lee smiles knowingly, and when she sits down, he pushes a small bowl of M&M’s across the desk in her direction. 

“Not for me, please,” she says. “But yes, I do want to discuss my... case.” It’s hard to get the words out. 

“I’m all ears.” David picks up a small handful of M&M’s, then leans back in his office chair, looking expectantly at her. 

“I have decided to divorce Peter.” 

David Lee’s smile widens, and he shoves a few M&M’s into his mouth, almost as if he were at the movies. “Good for you, Alicia,” he says. She glares at him, and he clearly notices. “I know I should be sympathetic and say that I’m sorry - it’s what I would usually say to my clients. But we are both lawyers, and you’re not a naïve first-year anymore, so let’s just cut to the chase. The truth is I’m mostly just surprised it took you so long to decide to leave your husband.” 

She knows David is an amazing lawyer - but a lot of the time, she just wants to slap him. Or yell at him. Or both. But he is not only her boss, she also needs his legal advice – so she resists both urges. “It wasn’t an easy decision to make,” she snaps. 

She realizes it’s not really true, at least not anymore. In the end, she supposes divorcing Peter has become an easy decision after all. David Lee raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t say anything. 

“I haven’t told Peter yet, because I will need to get a few things in order before I do. And I am going to need your help.” 

“That’s what you pay me _very_ well to do, Alicia,” David Lee says, taking another M&M. “I am ready to file the paperwork as soon as you say go.” 

“I don’t think we should do that quite yet,” she says. “There is a... complicating factor that I haven’t told you about yet.” She pauses. There is no way around this. David has to know. “I am pregnant.” 

His eyes widen, and he just stares at her, his mouth half-open. She can practically see how he is doing the math in his head, calculating her age from her birth date, which he of course knows from her files. She has very rarely seen David Lee become truly shocked by anything at all. And he hasn’t even heard the worst part yet. 

It takes him a few seconds to recover. “You’re _pregnant_ ?” David finally stutters. He is unable to keep the astonishment from his voice. “Are you kidding me?” His question tells her just how shocked he truly is, because it sounds like David Lee is saying what he is actually _thinking_ , as opposed to what his training tells him to say, which doesn’t happen often. 

Then she observes as his face goes from shock to alarm – probably as he realizes that she has been separated from her husband for several months, and – well. Rumors that she and Will are sleeping together are old news and Lockhart/Gardner. 

“It’s Will’s baby,” she confirms. 

David chokes on an M&M, and for ten horrific seconds, she fears she will need to perform the Heimlich’s maneuver on him. 

When David Lee finally regains his breath, his face is dark red and his voice is hoarse as he incredulously spits out: “What the _hell_ were you two thinking?” 

* * *

**Her**

She sits down at her desk. Her pulse is racing, and a part of her just wants to cry - but she is acutely aware that her office has glass walls, and that she is probably being watched by someone. Even though her life is in turmoil, she has to appear perfectly normal. 

She is doing this. She is really doing this. 

She is going to divorce Peter. 

What’s more, she has _told_ someone she is going to divorce Peter. Someone other than Will. Telling David Lee went better than she had feared, even though the M&M’s incident was scary. She thinks it probably helped that even though David was angry and - justifiably – fearful of the possible repercussions her pregnancy could have for his firm, he was still a professional. Once he was done scolding her, he did give her what she needed – solid legal advice regarding both divorce and paternity law. 

Her phone, which she set to silent during her meeting with David, vibrates in her purse. Something twists in her gut when she sees Peter’s name on the screen. Talk about terrible timing. For a split second, she considers not answering his call - but if she doesn’t, she will have to call him back eventually, and she will be so stressed out over what to tell him that she won’t get any work done. 

“Peter.” To her surprise, her voice sounds perfectly normal. She wonders how that’s even possible, when she talked to her lawyer about divorcing Peter less than ten minutes ago. 

“Hey, Alicia.” His voice sounds perfectly normal, too. Dark, deep. Familiar. “I tried to get hold of you, but your assistant said you were in a meeting.” 

“Yes,” she says. I was in a meeting in which we discussed me divorcing you. And paternity law, she thinks. “Sorry, I called you back as soon as I could.” 

“No problem. I’m taking Zack and Grace to the movies tonight, and I just got a text from Zach asking if he and Grace can stay over at my place afterwards.” 

“Oh.” Peter usually hangs out with Zach and Grace on Wednesdays or Thursdays, depending on their schedules. Peter and the kids will go out for dinner, and then they go to the movies, go bowling, or just hang out at his place. But they don’t usually sleep over at his place except during his weekends. She clears her throat. “That’s unexpected,” she says, mainly to win some time. 

Peter chuckles on the other end of the line. “I think Zach just wants to try the PS4 I bought yesterday. But it would save me some late-night driving. If you don’t mind?” 

She and Peter have been co-parenting pretty well lately. They are both trying to be responsible parents who set aside their differences because they want what’s best for their children. They haven’t been to court, because their separation is still unofficial. Consequently, their custody arrangement is - for now - just a verbal agreement between the two of them. She knows that the more time Peter spends with the kids now, the more time he is likely to get with them when they do go to court eventually – because she knows now that they will. 

But Peter is a good father, and she doesn’t want to keep the children from him. 

“Sure, no problem. If Grace is okay with it too?” 

“Yeah, Zach’s texted her.” 

The children have a few changes of clothes at Peter’s place, too. And at least for one single night, she wouldn’t have to hide from Zach and Grace how exhausted she is. “Just make sure they do all their homework before they start gaming, okay?” 

“You know, I’ve been a parent for quite a while now,” Peter chuckles. She knows him so well. She can tell from the amused tone of his voice that he is rolling his eyes at her – but in a good-natured way, he is not really making fun of her. 

“I know,” she says, trying to laugh too – hoping her laugh doesn’t sound as fake to him as it does to her own ears. “I’m sorry. Force of habit, I guess. I need to work late tonight, so they’ll have more fun at your place than at mine, anyway.” 

Lying to her husband has practically become second nature to her by now. 

“I guess your working late tonight means you’re feeling better?” Peter asks, and he can’t hide the relief in his voice. God, she is such a bitch. 

“Yes,” she says. “The doctor said it was probably just an unusually stubborn stomach bug.” 

“That’s good – not you having a stomach bug, of course, but that you’re finally feeling better. I’m glad Zach and Grace didn’t catch it, too.” 

“Yes,” she agrees. She fervently hopes that Peter will hang up soon. 

“Well, I’ll just drop them off at school tomorrow morning, then.” 

“Sounds good,” she says. “Have fun tonight.” 

“We will. Thanks, Alicia.” 

After she hangs up, she stares at her phone. She wonders if her husband will thank her for something ever again when he learns the truth of what she has done. 

* * *

**Him**

“Will.” 

He looks up in surprise at the sound of Diane’s voice. She is standing in his doorway, leaning casually against the door frame with her arms folded across her chest. Her hair is perfect, her expensive dress suit is perfect, her pearl necklace is perfect. He wonders how long she has been observing him without him noticing. 

“Diane.” 

She closes the door behind her and sits down. 

“So we’re talking now?” He says, raising an eyebrow. 

She shrugs. “Oh, I don’t know about ‘talking’. All I said was your name.” 

He can’t help but smile. “Good to know.” 

“I talked to Alicia yesterday,” she informs him. He supposes Diane isn’t one for small talk when she is pissed off – because he assumes she hasn’t cooled off quite yet. Not with the way she has been ignoring him. 

“I know.” 

“How exactly are you two planning to move forward? You have known about this pregnancy for weeks. I assume there must be some kind of plan.” 

“The details are a bit fuzzy,” he admits. “Because of Alicia’s age, it’s obviously a high-risk pregnancy. Even though everything looks promising right now, there is always the possibility that something could go wrong. But her doctor is cautiously optimistic, and if things continue to look good, I guess we are... going to have a baby.” 

He unlocks his phone, and quickly opens a photo he took of one of the printouts he got from Dr. Halloway. He shows Diane the image. Black fluid, a grainy whitish and grayish embryo - and Alicia’s name and date of birth in the top right corner. 

Diane seems at loss for words for a few seconds. She stares at his phone, then at him, then back at his phone again. 

“Wow,” she finally says, her voice almost a whisper. 

“I know.” 

“You are actually going to become a father.” 

“I am,” he confirms, a smile slowly spreading across his face. Diane gives him his phone back, and he can’t help but look at the screen, too, even though he has looked at the photo before. A lot. 

“Well, I never thought I’d see the day.” She chuckles, shaking her head in disbelief. “You are _happy_ about this. I’m not sure if it’s sweet or just really weird, seeing you with a sheepish grin on your face.” He has no idea how to respond, so he doesn’t. “I didn’t think you wanted children,” she continues. 

“I didn’t,” he confirms. It’s mostly true. He has known Diane for a long time – and in all those years, he never wanted children. He may have had what he now knows were hopelessly naïve hopes and dreams of starting a family a long time ago, though. Back in law school. 

Diane rolls her eyes and sighs. “Have you _ever_ heard of condoms, Will?” 

“Are you going to give me a birth control speech, Diane?” He shrugs. “Because I think I’m a bit too old for that.” 

“It’s too late for that now, anyway,” she snorts. “You’ve slept with practically half of Chicago without getting anyone pregnant - at least as far as I know - and I _really_ don’t want to know what you were doing back in Baltimore. Stern had a private investigator check out your background when we first considered making you name partner, and the rumors he came back with from Baltimore weren’t pretty.” 

“Stern really did that?” 

“Of course he did.” She sighs. “But the one woman you _do_ manage to knock up, is not only an employee, she is also the wife of the State’s Attorney - and, frankly, I thought she was too old to have any more children. You’re really not making the path to fatherhood easy for yourself.” 

“Or for you,” he adds. 

“Or for me,” she admits. “Why didn’t you just knock up Giada Cabrini instead? You wouldn’t have had to work for another day in your life.” 

“I didn’t plan for this, Diane,” he says, his voice suddenly serious. 

She shakes her head in despair. She pinches the bridge of her nose and closes her eyes briefly, the way she does when she has a headache. “Well, I didn’t think you did,” she sighs. “So what is your grand plan? I mean, obviously you and Alicia have been intimate, you just showed me proof of it - but now what? What is the nature of your relationship?” 

He furrows his brow. “That’s none of your business.” 

“That’s where you are wrong. _Everything_ about this, about you two, is now my business.” 

He grits his teeth, realizing that she is right. At least up to a certain point. “It’s complicated, as you might imagine.” 

“I assume Alicia is divorcing Peter?” 

“Yes.” 

“Does Peter Florrick know that his marital status is about to change?” 

“No,” Will admits. “We want to keep the pregnancy secret for as long as possible, because of…” His voice trails off. He doesn’t really want to say any of the ugly words out loud. Such as miscarriage, or chromosomal abnormality, or major risks to Alicia’s health… He clears his throat. “Because of the risks.” 

“What about Alicia and you after her divorce is finalized? Are you going to get married and live happily ever after?” There is a hint of sarcasm in her voice that she is not really attempting to conceal. 

“I don’t know. _We_ don’t know,” he quickly corrects himself. “We haven’t really talked about it.” 

Diane narrows her eyes, and he has to fight the urge to shift uneasily in his chair. Thank God he has never had to oppose Diane in court. 

“When Peter Florrick finds out, and obviously he _will_ have to find out eventually, we both know he is going to go ballistic. He will come after you, and the easiest way for him to hurt you, will be to go through our firm.” 

“I know.” 

“I want you to tell me exactly what you have on Peter Florrick,” she says. 

“Why would I do that?” 

“Because we’re in this together. When you got Alicia Florrick pregnant, you effectively dragged me into your mess. I won’t let Peter Florrick destroy my firm. I want a hand on the wheel.” 

He wonders what he has done to deserve being the partner of this formidable woman. He opens his laptop, clicks on a folder, and types in the password. Wordlessly, he hands her his laptop. 

Diane starts to quickly scan through the documents and photos, while he, in a low voice, gives her a short version of what the private investigator found. 

After he is done, she leans back in her chair, still staring at his laptop screen. From the reflection in her glasses he can tell that she is looking at one of the photos of Peter with a young intern back at the State Attorney’s office. Years before the scandal. He’s not sure how the private investigator found the photo, and he doesn’t want to know. 

“Alicia might never forgive you if you leak this,” Diane says. “Whatever Peter Florrick has done to her in the past, he is still the father of her children. And she is too loyal for her own good.” 

“There is a risk she may not forgive me,” he admits. “But you said it yourself. We can’t allow Peter Florrick to destroy our firm.” 

“Even if Alicia won’t speak to you ever again?” 

“I’m not the one who cheated on her,” Will points out. “Her husband did.” 

“I hope for your sake that’s how Alicia will view it if it ever comes down to that.” 

* * *

**Her**

Telling Peter that she was planning to work late was a lie. But after hanging up, she sits down by her desk and goes through her to-do list for the rest of the week. Realizing just how far behind she is due to her lunchtime naps and going home at 5 PM every day, decides to work late for a change. She _has_ been feeling better lately. 

But it is only a quarter past six when she realizes she doesn’t remember a word of the brief she just spent half an hour reading. Her good intentions are irrelevant – there is just no point. She is wasting her time, and her client’s time, and she will only accomplish one thing – driving herself to exhaustion. 

She really hates the first trimester. 

She considers emailing Will a list of documents she needs him to go through, because she simply won’t be able to do it in time herself. But although she sometimes feels like she has absolutely zero pride left when it comes to accepting Will’s help, she just... can’t. Not tonight. 

She takes the elevator down to the basement, and just sits in her car for a few minutes. She briefly considers taking a nap before she trusts herself to drive, but decides against it. If anyone from Lockhart/Gardner finds her sleeping in her car, they’ll certainly be suspicious. 

There is no one waiting for her at home. No one she has to lie to. No one she has to hide from. She can just... sleep. For nearly 12 hours straight. 

She turns the key in the ignition and starts driving. 

* * *

**Him**

He trips over her shoes in the hallway. 

He swears loudly as he loses his phone and car keys on the floor. He finds her on the couch – she is sitting up, rubbing her eyes. She clearly just woke up from all the noise he just made. She is still wearing the clothes she wore to the office earlier today, so she must have come here directly after work. Which means she has been here for hours, because when he walked by her office at 7:10 p.m., it was dark and empty. 

“Alicia. I didn’t know you’d be here.” 

She looks a bit like a deer in the headlights. “I, uh... The children are staying over at Peter’s tonight. Last-minute change of plans. And I was so tired, and I thought...” Her voice trails off. 

“No, it’s fine. Of course. I was just surprised to see you, that’s all. I would’ve come home earlier if I’d known you’d be here.” 

She looks at the TV – she must have fallen asleep watching the news. “It’s almost midnight,” she says, clearly surprised when she sees the time in the bottom right corner of the screen. “I’ve been out for almost five hours.” 

He yawns. “Yeah, it’s late.” He doesn’t tell her what he’s been doing – plotting with Diane to make sure Alicia’s husband doesn’t destroy their firm. Although he doesn’t think that Diane has forgiven him yet, it’s a relief that she _knows_. Where he can sometimes be rash, Diane never is. Her rational and brilliant mind has always helped him stay grounded, stay in control – and to stay in business. 

He puts his car keys on the counter, runs his hand through his hair. “I’m afraid I won’t be very good company tonight, Alicia,” he says apologetically. “I’m beat.” 

“That’s okay, because so am I.” She bites her lip, blushing. Alicia doesn’t blush very often. “I didn’t come here to get laid, though.” 

He wishes she wouldn’t think that _he’d_ think she had just come here for sex. When he said he wouldn’t be very good company, he wasn’t really thinking about them having sex. But of course, they _are_ having an affair, and well... Having sex is kind of the point of having an affair. He does see how she could easily jump to that conclusion. 

“I just... wanted to see you, that’s all,” she continues, “and I decided to wait for you to come home. But I probably fell asleep on the couch after roughly five minutes.” 

She is a mess, with wrinkled clothes and dark rings under her eyes. Aside from the clothes, he probably doesn’t look all that much better himself, though, after working for 16 hours straight. He switches off the TV, and after a very long day of endless meetings, the quiet is a relief. “Let’s take a shower,” he suggests. “Then we can go to sleep.” 

“Take a shower? _Together_?” He nods. “I thought you were too tired.” She smiles a wry smile. It’s a smile he knows well, from the first weeks of their affair, and it’s a relief to see her more like herself again. She really must be feeling a bit better. 

“Oh, I am too tired, believe me. But I’ve had a really long day, I need a shower before I go to bed – and if you want to spend time with me before I pass out, which will probably be roughly five minutes after my head hits the pillow, taking a shower with me is pretty much your only option. Besides, we’ll save water and energy if we shower together, won’t we?” 

She rolls her eyes, a smile playing on her lips. “That sounds like the kind of thing you’d say when you were 23,” she points out, but she does follow him to the bathroom. 

He laughs. “I have used that saving water and energy line more than once,” he admits. “But this is the only time I’ve actually had honorable intentions when I’ve invited a woman to take a shower with me.” 

“Should I be honored or offended?” Alicia asks, as she unzips her skirt. He takes off his socks, throwing them into the laundry basket, then starts to unbutton his shirt. He realizes they’ve never really undressed like this in front of each other – without the intention of having sex. 

“I think you should be honored to be a first,” he says, as she unhooks her bra. He tries not to stare, because he did mean what he said - it’s not really _that_ kind of shower - but he still can’t help but notice that her bra is getting small. Or rather, that she’s getting larger. 

He is a boob guy. He loves boobs in general, regardless of their size. He couldn’t care less. But knowing her breasts are larger because she is pregnant with _his_ child is definitely a turn on. It may be disturbingly caveman-ish of him, but there it is. 

“It’s not the first time you’ve been a first for me, though,” he says. 

“Really?” 

She steps into the shower first, and he follows her. His muscles are sore and aching, and the warm water feels wonderful against his skin, removing the stress of the day along with sweat and the grime of the city. He reaches over her shoulder for the shampoo. It smells of lavender – decidedly unmasculine. Alicia left it there because she complained of the ‘manly’ scent of his shampoo. It must have been a few weeks ago, just before she found out she is pregnant. In retrospect, he wonders if her sudden reaction to his shampoo was a very early pregnancy symptom. 

He gently turns her around so she’s standing with her back towards him, lathers up and starts washing her hair. She sighs contentedly, tilting her head backwards as he massages her scalp. 

“Damn you, Will Gardner, you’re good at this,” she says, and he laughs. 

“I do have my uses.” 

They don’t say anything for a few minutes. He takes his time washing her hair – far more time than he needs to. He has showered with more women than he cares to admit, but it’s never been quite like this with any of them. Her features are relaxed, her eyes closed. She almost looks like she is sleeping, except she is standing up. 

“Am I the first woman you’ve gotten pregnant?” Her voice is so low he can barely hear her over the sounds of the rainfall shower. 

She knows, of course, that he doesn’t have any children. But that doesn’t necessarily mean he hasn’t been in this situation before. 

“You are,” he confirms. “I was always a good boy, using condoms –” he leans forwards and whispers playfully into her ear: ”- until I met you and you corrupted me.” 

It’s not entirely true – over the years, he has been in long-term relationships, in which he mostly didn’t rely on condoms for birth control. But those long-term relationships have been few and far between. 

“This _is_ kind of my fault, isn’t it?” Her voice isn’t playful anymore, but there no guilt in her tone either. She sounds as if she is just stating a fact. 

“Well, I did know how human reproduction works, and I still chose not to wear a condom. I think we’ll have to share the blame.” He doesn’t feel bad about it, though, but saying that now would probably not be very productive. “But you’ve been my first in other ways, too.” 

“Really? I kind of got the feeling – both at Georgetown and at Lockhart/Gardner - that you have... well... tried it all.” 

He chuckles. “You shouldn’t listen to gossip.” He starts to rinse the shampoo out of her hair. “You were the first person to beat me at something that really mattered to me. Before I met you, I had always... I don’t know... _Succeeded_ . I graduated top of my class, I got into Georgetown, I excelled at sports – and not to brag or anything, but I _did_ sleep with a lot of beautiful women,” he says, playfully. She snorts. If her eyes weren’t closed, he knows she’d roll them at him. “Before I met you, I had achieved everything I had _truly_ set my mind on. But you graduated top of our class at Georgetown, and I wasn’t even close to beating you.” 

He doesn’t quite know how to interpret the smile playing on her lips as she turns around in his arms. She reaches for the bottle of shampoo. “My turn,” she says, and this time he is the one facing the tiled wall, tilting his head back for her so he doesn’t get shampoo in his eyes. “Graduating top of our class was in part thanks to you, though,” she says, and just like she did when he washed her hair, he closes his eyes. He allows himself to enjoy the feeling of her skilled fingers massaging his scalp. The tension in his shoulders seems to melt away. 

“At first, you drove me to study harder,” she explains. “You were so arrogant and smooth-talking in class that first semester. I just couldn’t let you continue to win every argument. And then, after we became friends, or whatever we were back then, all those late nights studying together certainly helped boost my grades.” 

_After that first mock trial, he had suggested that they continue to study together. She quickly pointed out that they had lost the case, but that didn’t stop him. He told her that it made sense – as the top two students in their class, learning from each other was a great opportunity._ _Besides, he said, they had a shared interest in keeping Liz Lawrence, who by then had already become Alicia’s nemesis, safely behind them._

_He knew, of course, that his arguments didn’t really make sense if Alicia were to scrutinize them. The fact that they were the top two students of their class did of course_ _imply that there was a competition between the two of them as well - and if the top student in his class had been anyone but her, he would never even consider asking them to study with him. Because frankly, you’d be stupid to help your competition._

His own motives for suggesting they study together were obvious, of course – and they had nothing to do with grades. But he had no idea what her motives for saying yes were. Did she really dislike Liz that much? Did Alicia consider the learning opportunity to be more important than securing her position as the top student in their class? Or did she genuinely want to spend time with him? He realizes now that he has never truly understood how her mind works, and that was perhaps one of the things that attracted him to her in the first place. 

“No, you graduating top of our class was all you,” he says. “I was so proud of you at graduation.” 

But he obviously couldn’t tell her that back then. In fact, they didn’t talk at all that day. 

_Peter was there_ _at his girlfriend’s graduation_ _, of course._ _Will_ _felt the older, taller man’s eyes on him several times that day_ _._ _Peter_ _was_ _always near Alicia, mostly with his arm_ _possessively_ _around her waist_ _._ _And_ _Will_ _was_ _there_ _with, what’s her name? Beatrice?_ _From 1L? God, what a train wreck that relationship had been._ _What the hell was he_ _thinking?_

_By the time they graduated, he and Alicia weren’t really talking anymore anyway. It was just too awkward after that night in 3L, the night that changed everything between them._

_They had been at a party at some classmate’s parents’ house. Actually, it was probably more of a mansion than a house._ _Alicia_ _had had a few glasses of wine – he wasn’t_ _really sure_ _whether or not_ _she was_ _actually drunk_ _, but he_ _definitely was_ _. She wore tight jeans and a black tank top that gave him glimpses of the pale skin of her belly every time she moved._

_Something was different about her that night, though. She wore eyeliner, which she almost never did. She laughed louder than she usually did when she was drinking. And when she danced.... Alicia liked to dance, but she was never one to be the center of attention. Now she was. Her hips were swaying with the rhythm of the music, a thin film of sweat covered her skin. Her laugh was uncharacteristically loud as she danced with a barely hidden desperation he had never seen in her before._

_She didn't dance with him, though. They hadn’t danced since that night last semester- when he walked her home after their all too intimate public dancing, which got her in trouble with Peter. He couldn’t help but look at her now, though. She was radiant, and she was Alicia._

_And she noticed. Their eyes met across the dance floor. Her pupils were huge and pitch black, her curly hair had started to come out from her ponytail, and her bright red lips were parted, as if in invitation._

_She made a quick movement with her head, raised an eyebrow, and mouthed one word to him._

_‘Upstairs.’_

_Did he just imagine it? He wasn’t_ _really sure_ _. He was drunk, yes, but he wasn’t really that drunk – was he? She was dancing near the entrance to the kitchen, which gave him the perfect excuse to pass her. On his way back to the dance floor, two bottles of beer in his left hand, he stopped briefly near her for just a few seconds. He’d never dare to dance with her in public again, not after the hell Peter gave her last time._

_“Where’s Peter?” He asked her. He had to almost shout to be heard over the music, his lips close to her ear. Her perfume was making him dizzy. And hard. He didn’t know if she heard the somewhat mocking tone of his voice._

_“Don’t know. Don’t care.” She stared defiantly at him. “He doesn’t get to tell me what to do.”_

_The tension in her jaw told him not to ask any questions. Instead, he offered_ _her_ _one of the beer bottles, and she_ _gave him a perfect view of her sleek, pale throat as she threw her head back,_ _gulping down at least half_ _of_ _the bottle._

_Then she looked up at him, licking the foam from her upper lip. “Upstairs. You go now, I’ll go in five minutes.”_

_He didn’t ask about Peter and whether she was_ _really sure_ _about this. He was too afraid she would just leave if he did. Instead, he eagerly took everything she was offering him. They found a bedroom, there were many of them, and locked the door behind them. Their clothes were quickly scattered all over the floor._

_He was overwhelmed. Her soft curves, sighs, muffled moans. The slick, wet heat. She didn’t take him into her mouth, but she did flick her tongue over the head of his cock and then teased the veins on his shaft, and he almost came right then and there._

_But when he was convinced her body was ready for him, when he simply_ **_couldn’t_ ** _wait anymore, when he reached for the condom in his wallet - he felt her body freeze underneath his. She stared at the condom in his hand, he had already opened the package, but he hadn’t started rolling it on. Then she looked up at his face._

_She abruptly sat up in bed. Her eyes were wild, and there was something new and terrible in them, something he hadn’t seen before._

_“_ _I’m sorry_ _,” she_ _said._ _“_ _I’m_ **_so_ ** _sorry_ _.”_

_She almost jumped out of bed, scurrying to locate her clothes, which were scattered all over the floor. Her cheeks were bright red, her eyes refused to meet his, her breath came out in – he wasn’t sure if she was sobbing or if she was just short of breath._ _But there were definitely tears on her cheeks._

_“I’m sorry,” she repeated, her hand on the doorknob, looking over her shoulder at him. Their eyes met for a split second._

_And then she left._

_They never really talked about what had happened – and what had not happened - afterwards. He tried to. Once. He went to her apartment the next day. When she opened the door and saw him, she just shook her head, her lips thin and pressed tightly together. And then he heard a voice from inside the apartment – a deep voice he knew all too well: “Who is it?”_

_Will didn’t say a word, he just turned around and left._

_And then, a few weeks later, she wore a diamond ring on her finger, and_ _that effectively made talking about_ _what happened between them that night_ _impossible_ _._

Looking back, he thinks that the way things ended between Alicia and him was at least in part because they were about to graduate. That spring, everyone in 3L knew that their lives were about to change forever. After nearly seven long years at university, they had already started to mentally let go of student life. 

Their 3L peers dealt with the knowledge of their impending adulthood in different ways. Some partied harder than ever, others practically never left the library. Some were already commuting to new jobs in other cities. At least five of the women were pregnant. Everyone knew that their real lives, the ones they had worked so hard for, for so long, were so very close. Real lives with jobs and actual salaries and apartments that weren’t dumps. And although they didn't know it at the time, that new life would come with responsibilities that would sometimes feel overwhelming and even crushing. Cases to be won – and devastating losses. Endless paperwork and demands from their bosses, occasionally sleeping on the couch in their office when they were too tired to drive home after 18-hour workdays. Mortgages and student loans. Crying babies keeping them up at night. Their real lives would in many ways be more stressful than law school, they just didn’t know it yet. They just didn’t know it was possible to be even more stressed than they already were. 

Maybe Alicia inviting him upstairs, and whatever fight she had clearly had with Peter that night, was a result of the pressure and the stress, too. He never went back to ask her about it, though – out of self-preservation more than anything. Thankfully, they only had a handful of classes left, and they could easily avoid each other. 

Well, he didn’t know if she was actively avoiding _him_ , but he sure as hell was doing everything he could to avoid _her_. He drank, he studied, and he fucked Beatrice. And he absolutely did _not_ think about Alicia while fucking Beatrice. 

And so their lives diverged, and they never talked about it, never talked about _them_. Not talking has probably always been their real problem, he thinks – not bad timing. Although admittedly, they have had their share of bad timing, too. 

Maybe it’s because telling her is easier somehow here, in this small, steam-filled room, with his eyes closed as her fingertips comb through his hair. Maybe it’s because he is so tired after a long day that his guard is down. Maybe it’s because he has had two decades of _not_ telling her. 

“I had never fallen in love with someone at first sight before I met you.” 

She freezes, just for a split second, and then she continues massaging his scalp. She tilts his head back with a finger underneath his chin, reaching for the hand-held shower on the wall to rinse the shampoo out from his hair instead of gently directing him towards the rainfall shower. 

“You never told me that you were in love with me. At Georgetown.” Her voice is shaking, ever so slightly. 

“No, I didn’t.” 

She is done rinsing his hair, and he reaches for the bottle of shower gel. He starts washing her body – first her back, then her shoulders, then her breasts. Her breasts are definitely fuller, her areolas slightly darker than before. She winces as he touches them. “Sorry,” he apologizes immediately. 

“No, it’s okay,” she says. “I’m just... tender.” 

It’s strangely asexual somehow, just lazily lathering her body with soap like this. His cock is half-hard, but that’s probably impossible to avoid when he is in the shower with a naked Alicia Florrick, anyway. His hands slip lower, to the very slight swelling of her belly. He probably wouldn’t have noticed if he hadn’t known. He caresses her there – slow, gentle circles. 

“You do know it’s just gas this early, right?” she says, and he laughs. 

“Doesn’t matter.” He lifts his gaze from her belly to look at her face. Her make-up is gone, her skin is flushed and blotchy because of the water and the heat. Her wet hair is black and slick against her head and neck. “I probably shouldn’t wash the rest of you,” he says with a wry smile, his fingertips moving just a quarter of an inch further down to make it clear what he means before they retreat after a few seconds. “I actually told you the truth when I said have no intention of having sex with you tonight. I really am beat.” 

“Did you notify Gardner Junior of your strict no-sex plans for tonight?” She raises an eyebrow and glances down at his cock, which is by now almost fully erect. 

“Ignore him,” he says. “He always reacts like that whenever you’re around.” 

“Oh yeah?” she breathes in his ear, leaning close, the head of his cock accidentally – or maybe not so accidentally – touching the smooth skin of her belly. 

“Oh, yeah,” he whispers back, the tip of his tongue tracing the shell of her ear. 

“I really wish I could go down on you right now,” she says, her voice dark, and his cock twitches against her belly in response. 

“Do you have any idea what you’re doing to me?” He groans, and she laughs – that deep, rich laughter he doesn’t get to hear anywhere near often enough. 

“Oh, I do, Mr. Gardner.” The fingers of her left hand close around his cock, her right pinching his nipple just hard enough to sting. His hips involuntarily buck in response to her exquisite mix of pleasure and pain. 

He was – is – exhausted, but his surging hormones are quickly outweighing the effects the 16-hour workday has had on his body and mind. He leans forward slightly, stabilizing himself partly by placing his left palm against the wall, partly by resting his forehead on her shoulder, his eyes closed. He can feel her hot and increasingly heavy breath against his neck and ear as she pumps his cock with perfectly measured strokes, her other hand first lightly fondling his balls, then massaging his perineum, but her fingers don’t venture further. He wouldn’t mind if they did, though – but tonight is probably not the right time to suggest that they try something new. Well, new for them, at least – he doesn’t know what she has done in the past with Peter, and he sure as hell won’t ask. 

He knows that if she were to slip a finger inside him and touch him just right, he would fall apart in seconds. But what she’s doing right now, two fingers placing the perfect pressure on his perineum while her other hand makes that twist at the end of each stroke of his cock... He can feel his orgasm build up in his spine already, and he has barely even touched her. 

He opens his eyes, looking down at her thin, yet strong fingers around his cock. It would be so easy to just allow her to continue. To cum on her belly, or her thighs, or her breasts, or... 

No. Not yet. 

“Stop,” he groans, and she looks up at him, frowning. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m sorry, I know – it's an absolutely terrible place to end this chapter. To be continued. Obviously.


	24. Day 25, part two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promised I wouldn't keep you waiting (for once)! Yay, smut!

**Her**

“Spread your legs for me,” he growls, and a delighted shudder goes through her when she recognizes that timbre in his voice. 

She releases his cock, meets his gaze. His pupils are so large his eyes look almost black, his mouth is half open. His nostrils are flared as he grits his teeth, the tendons in his neck taut as he clearly struggles to control his own body. He must be so very close. 

A rush of power courses through her at seeing him this _wild_ , and knowing _she_ did it to him. 

But she knows that look. She knows that she won’t regret relinquishing control to him right now. 

Without saying a word, she slowly takes a step to the side with her left leg, allowing him access to her body. He gently but firmly pushes her back a few short steps, until her back touches the cold tiles of the wall of the shower. He moves in to stand between her legs, and his voice is deep and dark when he whispers in her ear: “Good girl.” 

Their bodies don’t touch – he is so close, she can feel the heat from him, and she wonders if he’s doing it on purpose, if he would come if his cock touched her, any part of her. 

His left hand slowly trails over her belly, down to part her folds. 

“You’re so wet for me.” 

She shakily inhales through her teeth when his fingers slide over her slickness, and she can feel how he’s right – she hadn’t even known herself she was this turned on. 

“Yes,” she whispers. 

“Yes what?” 

“Yes, I’m wet for you.” 

He holds himself steady with his other hand, the one that is not busy getting her off, resting it against the tiles next to her head. She is effectively trapped between his body and the wall, unable to move, feeling his hot breath in her ear as he traces the length of her folds with his fingertips – slowly, teasingly. It is as if he is mapping her, although she knows he is intimately familiar with every single part of her body – and there is no other part of her body he knows better than the one he is currently touching. He studiously avoids her clit though, even when she mewls impatiently as he comes so, _so_ close. 

“Patience, Alicia,” he reminds her. 

She knows he wants her to beg, and even though she’d do pretty much _anything_ to get him to fuck her, right now, she knows it will be even sweeter when he finally does if she can just hold on for a little while. Besides, with that smug look he has on his face, she wants to give him a little resistance. Show him that he does not have total control. 

He lifts one of her legs up, draping it around his waist to get better access. His index finger teasingly trails a circle around her clit, then another circle, tighter than the first – and just when she thinks he’s going to touch her where she wants to him the most, he moves away, down, to her opening. She feels a gush of silky liquid when he opens her up, inserting first one finger inside her – not very far, maybe just two knuckles. Then he inserts a second finger. 

She muffles her moan against his shoulder, her fingernails digging into the skin of her back. 

“You’re so wet and swollen,” he murmurs, moving his fingers inside her to find that spot on her front wall. He strokes it – very gently, the way he knows she likes it the most – and if he hadn’t held her up with his body pushing her against the wall, she doesn’t think she would have been able to keep standing. “Even more than usual. Is it the pregnancy? Did _I_ do this to you?” 

She realizes that he _loves_ this. This possessiveness is something she never really saw in him before she became pregnant. 

“Yes,” she whimpers in his ear as he strokes her again, slightly harder this time, over the spongy tissue deep inside her. “You did.” She gasps, deciding that pride is immaterial at this point. “ _Please_ don’t stop.” 

After that, she’s unable to form a coherent sentence. He strokes her inside, gently, perfectly, and finally – _finally_ – his thumb grazes her clit, causing her to jerk and shout out his name. He growls in response, his hips bucking against her, probably involuntarily. 

“I’m gonna make you come,” he says, his voice hoarse, and she thinks, _fuck_. “I’m gonna make you come so hard. Your pussy feels so good – so wet and swollen and so ready for my cock.” Will Gardner has a filthy mouth, and before she met him, she didn’t even know that she loves being talked to like this in bed. Or the shower. “Do you want to come?” 

“Yes,” she whimpers. 

“I’ll make you _mine_ ,” he growls, and she can feel his teeth against the skin at the junction between her shoulder and her neck, but he doesn’t bite. And normally, she’d react if he’d said something like that, although she doesn’t know _how_ – but now she can’t, because he adds a third finger, and the feeling is overwhelming, causing her to jerk and whimper. 

He instantly stills. “You okay?” Where just a few seconds ago his voice was dark with need, it’s suddenly different now. Cautious. 

“Yeah,” she manages to say. “Just... please...” She can’t say anything else. She is barely able to form words at all, her brain too hazy - a full sentence is impossible. 

He chuckles, and she can feel his body relax against hers again in relief, but he removes his third finger, leaving just the two inside her cunt. 

“No, it’s okay,” she gasps. “You can... it’s fine. Three is fine.” 

“No,” he says. “Alicia, open your eyes.” When she doesn’t immediately obey, he repeats, his voice more insistent this time: “ _Open your eyes_.” 

She does, having to blink a couple of times before she is able to focus on his face. “ _I_ decide how many fingers I’ll fuck you with,” he growls. “You’re going to keep your eyes open while I fuck you. You’re going to keep them open, right up until _just_ before the moment when you cum on my fingers, gushing all over them.” With every other word he simultaneously touches that spot inside her with two fingers, while his thumb flicks over her clit. The cold tiles against her back somehow intensify the feeling of his hot skin against the front of her body. She doesn’t know at what point during their encounter he moved closer to her, physically pressing her against the wall, but now his skin is burning against hers. 

Their foreheads are touching, his eyes refusing to leave hers as she struggles to keep her eyes open when he touches her. He breathes harder too, grits his teeth, and she fleetingly thinks he must be close himself, because that’s what he usually does when he’s trying to hold back. 

“You’re going to cum now, aren’t you?” He practically purrs, and she can feel how the orgasm is building already, somewhere deep in her belly and pelvis, her pussy clenching down around his fingers. 

She barely recognizes the helpless sounds she makes as her own. Instead of his thumb directly touching her clit, it now makes tight circles just around it. Months of clandestine meetings in hotel rooms and their apartments have taught him that she is too close right now to be touched directly, too sensitive, and he probably wants to draw it out. 

“Are you going to cum for me?” He repeats when she doesn’t answer. 

It takes everything she’s got for the word “yes” to form on her lips. 

“It’s okay, Alicia,” he growls in her ear. “You can close your eyes now.” 

She does. And almost instantly, she comes, strangled sounds are being ripped from her throat as she convulses around his fingers. 

When her body finally stills, she rests her head against his shoulder, heaving for breath. His fingers slip out of her pussy, and she can feel how his cock pulses against her belly. “I love watching you cum,” he tells her, and she thinks there might be wonder in his voice, but she’s not quite sure. “I could do it forever. You’re so beautiful.” 

Her mind is too muddled for her to be able to answer. 

“You up for it?” he murmurs, and she knows he’s being extra careful, making sure. Even though she knows there is nothing to worry about, Dr. Halloway has assured her several times that she is perfectly healthy and she can have sex if she wants to, she still appreciates that he’s asking. 

She nods eagerly. He pulls both her other leg up around his waist too, positioning them both, his weight holding her up against the wall. He runs his fingers through her wet hair before he moves his hand down between them. He doesn’t need much guidance, though – she's so wet he slips right inside her, and she gasps when she feels his cock against her swollen walls, still sensitive from her orgasm just minutes before. 

He holds still for a few seconds, clearly controlling his breathing, allowing her to adjust to his size as he then very slowly seats himself deep inside her body. 

She knows this won’t last long. She sees it from his still clenched jaw and the almost desperate look in his eyes. Feels it from his movements as he slides out of her only to push right back in, movements which are already bordering on erratic. Hears it from his gasps, and the low growl coming from deep in his throat, betraying that he is about to lose control. 

She holds on to his shoulders, attempting to meet the movements of his hips with her own, but it’s hard when they are both wet and slippery and she is held up just by him, so she gives up and just allows him to do all the work. 

“You’re going to come again,” he growls, and she thinks, no way. But then he tilts her hips slightly, allowing his pubic hair to slide over her clit with every stroke, and after that, she doesn’t think anymore. When she comes again, it's less intense, but more protracted. And just at the very end, she feels him pulsate inside deep inside her as her inner muscles flutter one last time, and he comes too, biting her shoulder – hard - as strangled sounds are ripped from his throat. 

She will probably wake up with a bruise on her shoulder tomorrow, and she fleetingly thinks that thankfully it isn’t summer – it's easier to hide his tooth marks in the fall. She opens her eyes to watch his face as he rides out his own climax, his eyes closed and his mouth half open as he groans, his hips moving against hers in an erratic rhythm. When his body finally relaxes, she clings to him, held up only by his strong arms and being pinned between the wall and his body. Her legs are starting to ache, and she shifts, signaling to him to let her down. 

He takes a step back, still holding on to her so she doesn’t fall. Her legs are shaking as her feet touch the wet tiles. 

“I guess I failed at making this shower a first for me after all,” he says breathlessly, and she laughs. “I should’ve known I couldn’t be naked in a shower with you without fucking you.” 

“It was a terrible idea,” she agrees. “Maybe some other time, though. If we try this again – and again – and again,” - for each time she says ‘again’, she places a kiss on his chest - “we’ll succeed. Eventually.” 

“Maybe,” he says, smiling, but he doesn’t sound convinced. 

They rinse out the remains of the shampoo, and he gently cleans her between her legs with a washcloth. 

Will’s towels are thick, exclusive and soft, and she quickly dries her hair and skin. She decides to just leave her clothes on the bathroom floor – she is too tired to deal with them right now. They brush their teeth, naked, side by side. Strangely, the mundane nightly ritual feels almost as intimate as when he was inside her just a few minutes ago. Their eyes meet in the mirror. His gaze then focuses on her shoulder and the bruise he just made. He turns his head, looking at her shoulder for real, not just in the mirror. 

“I’m sorry I hurt you,” he says, but she shakes her head. 

“You didn’t hurt me.” You marked me, she thinks, but she doesn’t say it out loud. 

They get into bed. They are both exhausted, neither of them caring about putting on underwear or nightclothes. They curl up under the soft linen. He lays behind her, his bent knees fitting perfectly behind her knees, his arm resting over her waist, holding her close. He doesn’t switch off the soft light on the nightstand behind him, though. Maybe he doesn’t want to fall asleep quite yet, although they definitely should. It’s well past midnight. 

They’ve been lovers for several months, but they haven’t had the opportunity to fall asleep together like this nearly often enough. His arm is heavy over her waist, his other arm underneath her neck as she rests on the soft skin of his upper arm. His skin is hot and damp against her own, and she can feel his breathing slowing down. They just lie there like that for a while, not talking, just being close. She is starting to wonder if he has fallen asleep, but she thinks his breathing would be even slower and more regular if he were. 

“I didn’t fall in love with you at first sight,” she whispers, and she can feel how his body freezes. He wasn’t asleep, then. 

She can feel his hot breath against her neck when he says, “I know.” 

She can’t really read any emotion from the tone of his voice, and she can’t see his face. So she decides to just keep talking. To tell him something she has been thinking about quite a lot lately. Even though it’s confusing and incoherent, and she doesn’t quite know what it all _means_. 

“The first time we met, I thought you were really cocky, doing cannonballs just to show off and bragging about your baseball accomplishments. Telling me you wanted to become a lawyer because you wanted to be rich.” She smiles at the memory of 22-year-old Will Gardner. Brash and brilliant and seemingly so sure of himself. Only later would she catch rare glimpses of an underlying vulnerability he usually hid very well. “And... I thought you were hot, obviously.” 

“Hot, huh?” He chuckles, and she turns around in his arms, facing him. “Why didn’t you tell me that back when we had pizza and beer in my office? Remember when I asked you what you thought of me the first time we met?” He asks her, and she doesn’t know if he’s teasing her or if he’s being serious. 

“I think that’s pretty obvious,” she smiles. “You’d be even more cocky if I did.” 

He teasingly presses his hip against her thigh. “Really? You think I’m cocky?” He’s not erect, but she wouldn’t be surprised if that were to change soon if he keeps this up. Even though he is probably as exhausted as she is. 

“I wasn’t the only one at the party who thought you were hot, though. At least half the girls at that pool party did.” 

“They didn’t,” he protests. 

“Oh yes, they did. Don’t think I didn’t notice. The girls were all over you, and you were loving every second of it.” She places a soft, slow kiss on his forehead. She can’t kiss his lips, a weird and unfortunate side effect of her pregnancy - but she can at least do this. He tastes clean. Of soap and her shampoo. “I don’t do well with competition,” she murmurs. 

“I beg to differ,” he says, his voice so low it’s almost a whisper. “I’ve seen you in court. Besides...” He swallows. “You never had any competition, Alicia.” 

Their faces are so close it’s hard for her to focus on his features in the soft light of his bedside lamp. She can feel his breath on her face as she gently traces the line of his jaw with her index finger. He needs to shave. She swallows, hesitates. 

“It took me a while to fall in love with you,” she finally says, her voice shaking ever so slightly. He holds his breath for a few seconds. His eyes are wide, his face suddenly very serious. But he doesn’t say anything. 

“I don’t know when it happened, exactly,” she continues. He tucks a stray strand of damp hair behind her ear. She licks her dry lips, clearing her throat before she trusts herself to continue. “I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately, trying to find out when it happened. At first I thought it happened when I watched you pitch. I went to your games and practices more often than I dared admit. But looking back at it, that was probably mainly lust. You in those tight pants...” She expects him to laugh, wants him to, but he doesn’t. Instead, Will lies very, very still, just staring at her. She swallows. “It’s probably more likely that it happened when you drove me crazy in class,” she continues. “You were always challenging me, always driving me to work harder in a way no one else ever did. But even though you were arrogant, you always respected me. I really can’t say the same for all of our male classmates. You made me better, you made me see both the law and life in new ways, even though I didn’t always particularly _like_ those new ways.” 

“I guess I was a cynic back then too,” he grins 

“To be fair, my attitude, which I now realize was hopelessly naïve, was probably maddening.” 

“I could never quite make up my mind if it was maddening or endearing,” he says. “I guess I mostly gave you the benefit of the doubt.” 

We were so different back then, she thinks. Yet here they are, two decades later. And even though life took them in different directions, now that she is lying in his arms, she might as well have been 23 again. 

“It could also have happened at one of the many parties you and your roommate hosted.” She smiles at the memory of a young Will Gardner, his skilled fingers moving quickly over the guitar strings, his voice slightly hoarse from all the cigarette smoke at whatever club or bar they’d just come from. It was impossible not to wonder what else his fingers or tongue might be good at doing. 

Now she knows, of course. 

“You would only play late at night,” she continues. “You’d whip out a couple of bottles of cheap red wine and your guitar, and then you’d start playing and singing. I never knew if you did it because you wanted to keep people from going home, or if you just wanted to get laid. You probably could’ve gotten any girl you wanted with that guitar playing and those sultry eyes of yours. But I didn’t really mind about all the other girls, not then, because your playing gave me a good excuse to just... look at you. Without worrying if anyone would catch me staring.” She chuckles. “It’s the oldest trick in the book, playing the guitar and singing 70s songs at parties to get girls to sleep with you. I mean, _Stairway to heaven_ and _Wonderful tonight_?” She laughs. “Well, I guess it worked.” 

“It didn’t work until almost 20 years later, though,” he objects. 

She smiles, then hesitates before she continues. “Or maybe it happened when we were volunteering in our spring semester in 1L. Remember the Reed family? Who were about to be evicted? You fought so hard for them. And I know you said you went to law school for the money, but it wasn’t about money for you then. They were broke, and we obviously didn’t get paid. But I saw how you connected with Mr. Reed’s old, sick mother. How you really _saw_ her. How she trusted you. For you, it was about fighting for what was right.” 

She knows that Will was pressured by his father to choose law over sports. Will never talked about it much back then, but she understood. But still, he found passion in the law, too. In using it to help people. “You crept up on me, I guess. Sometime in 1L. Maybe it’s harder to recognize that you are falling in love when it happens gradually.” 

“If you fell in love with me in 1L, why didn’t you ever tell me?” he finally whispers, tracing her lower lip with his thumb. 

She closes her eyes. “I guess it was just... easier. I saw how you were cheating on that girlfriend you had the first semester – Tammy’s sister. And then after her, there were just all of these _women_. Everyone knew it. And I’d seen my parents’ marriage fall apart because of my mother’s infidelity, and I...” She opens her eyes again, takes a deep breath. He deserves to hear the truth. She has hurt him, time and time again, and now she’s pregnant and has messed up his life. “The truth is, I was a coward,” she continues, her voice low. “I told myself it was just hormones. That I’d never be able to keep your interest for long, that you’d find someone else. I thought I’d save myself from a lot of heartache if I just stayed away from you. Peter seemed... safer.” 

* * *

**Him**

He can feel the heat radiating from her skin against his own. The pillow is damp underneath her head from her still wet hair. She was too tired to blow-dry it before she went to bed. Listening to Alicia’s low voice in the privacy of his bedroom, her words sting. It hurts, realizing just how much time they have wasted - because of her insecurities, and his sleeping around, and how he never found the courage to just talk to her about his feelings for her. But at least she is finally opening up. She has never talked to him about feelings before. Not really. 

“Yeah, I’ve cheated,” he said. “But I’d never... I never would’ve cheated on _yo_ _u._ You were… different..” 

She sighs. She looks tired now, drawn. “You say that now, but who knows what would’ve happened?” She shrugs. “We were so young. You had so much energy, so much drive. You didn’t seem like you were afraid of anything – and I was _terrified_ of failing, of not being good enough. I would’ve slowed you down, and you would have ended up resenting me, moving on to someone else. Maybe you would have found someone else after we broke up, maybe before, I don’t know. But I do know that we never would’ve lasted.” 

He thinks, how could Alicia have so little faith? In both herself and in him. He realizes that her husband and her mother did very thorough work. Messing her up and destroying her self-esteem. 

She laughs bitterly and continues: “So because I was afraid you would cheat on me, I chose Peter – who ended up _actually_ cheating on me. How's that for irony?” 

“It’s not irony,” he objects. “It’s... life. It doesn’t excuse what Peter did to you, though.” He pulls her closer, tucks her head underneath his chin. “I wish you had told me back then. I wish... I wish a lot of things.” He kisses the top of her head. 

“Why didn’t _you_ tell me you were in love with me?” She asks. “Back then.” 

He is taken aback by the question, but he guesses it’s only fair. 

He thinks back. 1L. Alicia Cavanaugh, dressed in jeans and hoodies, her hair curly and her tongue sharper than it is now. She hadn’t learned very much about the law yet back then, and perhaps more importantly, she hadn’t become a politician’s wife. She hadn’t learned how to weigh her words the way she does now. 

They called her Saint Alicia in 1L back in 1L too. No boyfriends, no drugs, her alcohol intake was limited compared to many of their classmates, and no one-night stands – at least none that anyone knew about. She studied hard, she waitressed every other weekend - and he always hosted parties on the weekends he knew she didn’t work mostly because he hoped she’d come. 

“I guess I was a bit intimidated by you. And I was terrified you’d say no.” 

They don’t say anything for a while. He is almost starting to wonder if she has fallen asleep when she says: “I don’t want to hurt you. I _never_ wanted to hurt you.” 

He can feel a dampness against his chest, and realizes she’s crying. “It’s okay, Alicia,” he whispers in her hair, gently stroking her back, holding her close. 

Her fingernails dig into the skin of his back almost painfully. “Since college, I’ve only ever slept with two men. Peter – and you. And that really means something to me,” she whispers. “I just want you to know that.” 

“I know.” Since they parted after law school, he has slept with... hundreds of women, probably. And not all of them have been one-night stands. He has been with several women who actually meant something to him, so he’s no stranger to whispered late-night conversations. 

But it’s never been quite like this with any other woman. 

“That first night, at the hotel... It wasn’t just about fucking someone – _anyone -_ because I was sexually frustrated, and because I technically _could_ because I had just separated from my husband. I slept with you because you were... you.” 

She looks up at him, her cheeks streaked with tears. She quickly dries them away, looking somewhat embarrassed. Her face is swollen from crying, her eyes are red-rimmed, and there are dark rings under her eyes from exhaustion. Alicia is a beautiful woman - stunning, even – but rarely has he seen her like this. A mess, but still breathtaking. Unguarded. She traces his lower lip with her thumb, and he thinks that if he slipped his tongue out, he could probably taste the salt of her tears. 

“I probably wouldn’t even have considered keeping the baby if you hadn’t been so supportive,” she admits. “Thank you.” 

He pulls her against his chest, holding her tight. 

He has no illusions. He knows they have a long way to go. But Alicia is here, in his bed – and never before has she talked about love. She didn’t talk about love two decades ago when they were in their 20s, and she hasn’t done so now in their forties during their affair, either. The closest she has ever come, was that night in New York, when she told him this was the happiest she had ever been. 

It is not lost on him how she carefully avoids talking about her feelings in the present. She doesn’t say anything about being in love with him _now._

But to be fair, neither does he. 

Alicia guards her heart very closely. She has good reason to, he thinks, with the way her trust has been abused in the past. But she has trusted him tonight. He is not quite sure what that means, but he knows better than to push her. He desperately wishes he could kiss her, but it would just make her sick. Instead, he smiles, blinking to keep his tears away. He makes a soft sound, almost like a sigh, and he tilts her head towards his with a finger underneath her chin. He kisses her on the cheek – a soft, lingering kiss. 

“Let’s sleep,” he murmurs, and within minutes, both of them do.


	25. Day 26-27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So in this chapter I tried something new - I have included events from two different days, and I also used coding to make iOS messages for the first time. I've seen it in other fics, and I've always liked it - I hope you'll like it too! If you would like to try it yourself, I used this excellent tuitorial: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6434845/chapters/14729722  
> I didn't even know what work skins were in the first place until yesterday, but this link was easy to follow and very helpful.  
> I don't think I'll go back and edit the chapters I've posted before, but I'll probably use iOS messages from now on. It's strictly speaking probably not canon, because as far as I remember, Alicia didn't have an iPhone in season 3, but hey - fanfiction. ;) 
> 
> Just a quick reminder: Day 26 is a Friday, day 27 is a Saturday.

**Day 26**

**Him**

He wakes her gently, stroking her shoulder and whispering in her ear. 

“Alicia?” 

She mutters something unintelligible. He can’t see her face because it’s partly buried in the pillow, partly covered by her hair - which is even messier than it normally is in the morning because she went to bed with damp hair last night. 

“Alicia,” he repeats, more insistently this time. 

“What time is it?” She groans. 

“It’s almost seven.” 

She sits up in bed, rubbing her eyes. He hands her a glass of water and a piece of wholewheat toast. She looks momentarily surprised, but then smiles a relieved smile and gratefully accepts. She takes a very small bite of the toast, carefully chews it, then takes another bite. 

“Is this a trick you learned from your internet searches on food for pregnant women?” She asks, and he laughs. 

“Yeah. Is it working?” She nods, then takes a sip of water. “Good. You can stay in bed while I go to your place to get you some clothes. You could catch another hour or so of sleep. No offense, but you look like you need it.” 

“Yeah, showing up for work wearing yesterday’s clothes is definitely not a good idea.” She sighs, then leans back in bed. “Your offer is too tempting to resist,” she admits. “Just make sure my neighbors don’t see you, okay? They don’t go to work this early, so it probably won’t be a problem. And if you do run into them, you can slip in that you’re just rushing over to give me some important papers I need for court or something.” 

“I’m good at charming elderly ladies _and_ discreetly slipping bits of information into conversations,” he grins, and she rolls her eyes. 

“I know.” A smile is playing on her lips now. “You wore me out last night.” 

“I could say the same for you.” He kisses her shoulder. The one that isn’t bruised from when he came last night. “What do you want me to get for you?” 

“The cream suit with the pencil skirt, a matching silk blouse and underwear. Do you know which suit I’m talking about?” she asks, and he nods. He has paid more attention to her wardrobe these last three years than he cares to admit. “It’s relatively loose-fitting.” She grimaces. “I may need to go shopping soon.” 

“I think so too.” He puts his hand on her belly, or rather, where he knows her belly is. The very slight curve is hidden underneath the duvet. He knows she is naked underneath, but he also knows that between her morning sickness and the meeting he has at 09:30, it’s not a good time. “Why don’t you leave some clothes at my place?” He asks. 

She looks taken aback for a second. She looks at him, eyes wide and shoulders tense. 

_We’ve been sleeping together for what – six months?_ He thinks. _You are pregnant with my child, and **still** me suggesting that you to leave a change of clothes at my place is too much of a commitment for you? _He doesn’t change the subject or say anything to help her save face, he just patiently waits for her reaction. 

“Maybe I should,” she finally says, as her fingertips trace the veins on the back of his hand, the hand that is still resting on her belly. 

* * *

**Him**

David Lee doesn’t knock. 

“Diane wants you to join us in the main meeting room.” 

“And she sent _you_?” Will asks incredulously. David Lee doesn’t run errands for _anyone_. 

David Lee grins, which always makes Will feel uneasy. “I volunteered. Everyone at Lockhart/Gardner needs to take a sexual harassment class to keep our insurance costs low. I have saved you a seat.” 

Fuck, he thinks. 

“The seat is right at the front. Next to Alicia.” 

Perfect. 

“I’ll be right there,” he says. 

“That’s what Diane told me you’d say, and she told me to tell you, and I quote, ‘to get your ass over to the meeting room right now’.” 

* * *

**Her**

The sexual harassment prevention video has already started by the time Will finally shows up, along with a smirking David Lee. God, she really needs to talk to him – or maybe Will should talk to him – so he doesn’t reveal everything. 

She cringes as she realizes that the only available seat is right next to hers. It is probably not a coincidence. From the corner of her eye, she can see Diane – whose eyes are trained on the inane video, which must be at least ten years old. She wonders where they found those terrible actors, not to mention who wrote the script. And the soundtrack – what were they thinking? 

Is she just imagining stolen glances being sent in their direction as Will sits down next to her? She is well aware that half the firm – and that is a conservative estimate – assumed that she and Will were sleeping together long before they actually did. 

Her eyes briefly meet Will’s as he sits down, but neither of them says anything. 

**_“It’s not fair. Megan only got that promotion because she is sleeping with the boss.”_** Great. She can’t help glancing in Will’s direction, but he just stares at the screen, ignoring her, his face perfectly neutral. **_“When an authority figure becomes involved with a subordinate, is that sexual harassment?”_**

Maybe Diane wrote the script, she thinks. 

“How are you doing?” he asks, his voice low. 

“Good. Heading out for a meeting right after this,” she says under her breath. He knows very well that the ‘meeting’ is with his pillow. 

“I have to ask Diane how much we paid for this,” he mutters, and she has to bite her lip to hide her smile. 

* * *

**Day 27 (Saturday)**

**Her**

She opens the door. 

“Owen!” She stares at her brother in shock for a second before she plasters on a smile and quickly adds, “Come in! I haven’t seen you in ages!” 

_Shit_ , she thinks. It’s been ages since they met because she has actively avoided her brother ever since she became pregnant. Owen knows her well, and he is very perceptive. He also _talks_. Consequently, she has used every excuse possible to avoid seeing him these last few weeks. Well, to be fair, it’s been the same excuse every single time, but it’s a good one when you are a lawyer: Work. 

“Yeah, it’s been what – a month?” 

“Something like that,” she says, definitely not admitting that she is currently paying very close attention to the calendar. 

Owen starts taking off his coat. “You look like hell, sis,” he says. “Too much wine last night?” 

Owen isn’t one to beat around the bush. She looks nervously over her shoulder, at Grace, who is sitting on the couch, well within hearing distance. 

“Yeah.” If Owen thinks that she has been drinking, it might throw him off the scent. 

But her heart sinks when Owen studies her face more closely, furrows his brow and says: “Are you sure you’re okay?” He tilts his head. “You look almost as pale as you did back when you were pregn... _Ow!”_

She quickly kicks him in the shin, hard, and her brother howls in pain. He hops around her hallway on one leg, clutching his other leg while staring wide-eyed at her. 

“What the...” he gasps, but she shakes her head in warning. 

“Not here,” she mouths at him, and she watches as realization dawns on his face. His mouth opens and closes, repeatedly, but not a sound comes out. 

“Uncle Owen?” Grace must have been alerted by all the howling and joins them in the hallway. “Are you okay?” 

“Yeah,” he stutters. “Just slipped. I, uh... I came here because your mother asked for my help to pick out new curtains for her bedroom.” 

God, her brother is such an awful liar. 

“I didn’t know you wanted to buy new curtains,” Grace says. 

“I need light proof ones,” Alicia explains. “Why don’t we go have a look right now, Owen? We’ll be right back, Grace.” 

When the bedroom door closes behind them, Owen waits for a few seconds, clearly listening for Grace’s footsteps to make sure that she hasn’t followed them and that she is not listening in on them on the other side of the door. When he is convinced no one can overhear them, he hisses: “What the _hell_ , Alicia?!” She closes her eyes, takes a few deep breaths. She hasn’t really thought about how she would break the news to Owen, and she certainly didn’t plan to do it _now_. When she doesn’t answer, her brother continues: “Are you really _pregnant_?” His voice is barely a whisper as he says the last word. 

She opens her eyes. She hesitates for a few seconds before she finally answers: “Yes.” 

Owen’s eyes look as if they are about to pop out of his head. He takes her hand, pulls her away from the closed door, towards the window – as far away from Grace as possible. “Is it Will’s or Peter’s?” He whispers. 

“Do you seriously think I’d sleep with two men at the same time?” 

“Do you mean that as in having a threesome, or as in sleeping with two men over the course of the same menstrual cycle?” 

She rolls her eyes. _“Owen!”_

“So it’s Will’s?” 

“Yes, of course it is.” She hasn't explicitly _told_ Owen that she is sleeping with Will - well, not really - but it was easy for him to read it between the lines. Owen is the only one she hasn’t actively hid her affair with Will from. And although she has never given him any details of her affair, having her brother know about Will felt surprisingly comforting. 

Before her pregnancy, that is. 

“Wow, this is... this is a _lot_ to process. Please remind me - you are how old exactly?” 

“You know very well that I’m 43,” she hisses. “Becoming pregnant at my age is rare, but it’s not unheard of.” 

“And you didn’t take any fertility drugs?” 

“Of course I didn’t!” She realizes that by the end of that sentence she is almost shouting, and she takes a deep breath, making an effort to control her voice before she continues. She _really_ doesn’t want Grace to overhear this conversation. “Do you seriously think I _wanted_ this to happen?” 

“Wow.” Owen shakes his head, laughing. “You couldn’t get knocked up when you were in your teens like normal people, now could you? You had to wait until your 40s to rebel?” 

She fights the urge to yell at him. “This isn’t about rebelling. I had sex, that’s all.” 

“Sex with Will.” 

“Yes, sex with Will,” she agrees, rolling her eyes. “And then this happened. Sex has been known to involve the possibility of pregnancy.” 

“Wait, you _have_ done this before,” Owen says, and she knows that annoying tone of his voice. “With Zach. _And_ Grace, now that I think about it. So now what are you going to do – marry Will, like you married Peter back when you got pregnant with Zach and cried on the phone to dad?” 

“I didn’t marry Peter because I got pregnant.” 

“Yeah, you did,” he says. “I was there, remember? You even changed your wedding date!” 

“I would’ve married Peter anyway. We just got married a bit sooner than I had planned.” 

“And look how well that turned out.” 

She takes a few steps back, turning her back towards him as she crosses her arms over her chest, hugging herself. She is starting to feel sick. She really wishes Owen hadn’t shown up. She was having an almost normal conversation with Grace, she was feeling better than she had in weeks, and now... She sits down on the edge of the bed, hiding her face in her hands. 

“You are really not helping,” she says. She can hear how her voice is shaking, and she hates herself for it. 

“I’m sorry, Alicia.” She can feel how he sits down on the bed next to her. “It’s just very... unexpected.” He clears his throat. “I am just going to ask you one more question, and after that, I’ll be 100% supportive, regardless of your answer. I promise.” 

He waits, probably for her to say something, but she doesn’t. Finally, he continues: “Are you going to keep it?” 

She briefly considers giving him the full story - which would involve relaying details on the statistics of the incidence of both miscarriages and chromosomal abnormalities in women her age, as well as explaining the screening tests she has lined up over the next few weeks. And trying to convey that although she tries _not_ to think about statistics most of the time, it doesn’t always work. But she decides against it. 

She lowers her hands to rest on the edge of the bed and straightens her back, meeting his eyes. 

“Yes,” is all she says. 

“Whoa. Okay.” Owen runs his fingers through his hair, shaking his head in disbelief. She makes no effort to hide the tears on her cheeks. Then he touches her shoulder gently. “How can I help you, Alicia? With anything. Anything at all.” 

And there are so many things she could say, so many things she is afraid of that she could tell him, and perhaps a listening ear would actually help. But she can’t. Instead, all she can say is, “Oh, Owen...” And then she breaks down crying. 

He holds her as she cries. She cries silently, so Grace won’t hear her from the other room. He doesn’t say anything, he just holds her close and strokes her hair, over and over again. Owen smells faintly familiar, kind of like their dad did. 

After, she goes to the bathroom to splash cold water on her face. She’s not quite sure how to explain her red eyes to her daughter. When she returns to her bedroom, she gratefully kisses her brother’s cheek. 

“I just need you to be here for me,” she says. “And for you not to judge me. Because everyone else is going to judge me, but I need you to... _not_.” 

“Of course.” 

Before they join Grace in the living room, she shows him the printouts from the last ultrasound, which are hidden in her sock drawer. She can’t hide her smile when her brother gasps – but this time it’s in wonder, not in shock. 

* * *

**Him**

What are you doing?  
  


Her text lights up the screen of his phone. It is almost five in the afternoon, and he hasn’t heard from her all day. She has probably been spending time with her children. He hopes she is feeling alright – he knows weekends are difficult for her, having to hide her nausea and exhaustion from her children all day. A part of him wishes that Alicia would tell Zach and Grace soon. It might make things easier for her. But on the other hand, telling her children would mean having to tell Peter first, because it wouldn’t be right to ask her children to keep it secret from their father - and Peter knowing would definitely not make things easier for either of them. 

Working. Don’t ever become a name partner...  
  


He adds a rolling eyes emoji. 

No chance of that happening anytime soon with the way Diane is looking at me these days  
  


He has to admit that she is probably right. They haven’t really talked about it, but it is very likely that this pregnancy will impact her career in one way or another. Being a name partner, he has the opportunity to support her, but that support could easily end up working against her. Such as if Diane continues to resist him simply because she’s pissed off. And even if Diane doesn’t, the other junior associates will be less than impressed – and rightly so, he has to admit to himself - if Alicia gets promoted because she’s gotten pregnant by her boss. 

She’ll come around. We’ll make her the godmother of the baby or something  
  


He meant it as a joke, but it takes her a full minute to answer, long enough for him to start wondering whether she took him seriously. 

You wanna discuss whether or not to christen the baby via text? With my unsuspecting daughter sitting next to me?  
  


He is almost certain that she is joking. He needs to think for a few seconds before he texts her back. 

When you put it that way, I guess it might be a bit premature  
  


There. That reply can be interpreted any way she wants. Her next text comes as a complete surprise, though. 

I told Owen everything earlier today  
  
Ok  
  


He doesn’t quite know how to respond to that. He had no idea she was planning to tell her brother. 

He could tell just by looking at me  
  


So that explains it then, he thinks. 

I don’t know how much longer we can keep this a secret, Will  
  
I know. How did your brother take it?  
  
Owen was his usual sarcastic self at first, but he came around. He wants to meet you. Not sure if he wants to kick your ass for knocking up his sister, or thank you for luring me away from Peter. He *really* doesn’t like Peter.  
  


That makes two of us, he thinks. He is curious. From what she has told him, Owen seems like he is different from his sister. 

Sure. Any time  
  
I told him it would have to wait until after I tell Peter  
  
When are you going to tell Peter?  
  


She doesn’t answer at first. He can tell from the moving bubble that she is typing something, but it takes her a couple of minutes to actually send her text. And when she does reply, it is short: “I don’t know.” She has clearly written something, then erased it – maybe several times.

I will probably have to tell him soon. Too many people are starting to find out. But if we can just wait until after the next ultrasound...  
  


He knows what she is refraining from writing. The pregnancy is high-risk. He doesn’t know if she still intends to go through with the divorce if she loses the baby. It’s probably better not to ask. But if she does divorce Peter anyway, the divorce will probably be more amicable if her husband doesn’t find out she got pregnant with another man’s baby. 

That may be calculating, but it is also the harsh truth. 

You’ll be ok  
  
I don’t know. Right now it kind of feels like my life is falling apart  
  


Before he has the chance to respond, she sends another text. 

Gotta go. Watching a movie with the kids. I always tell them to put their phones away when we watch a movie together, so I have to do the same. TTYL  
  
Have fun  
  


He puts his phone down and opens his laptop. Alicia didn't seem surprised that he is working on a Saturday - after all, she is a lawyer too. What she _doesn’t_ need to know is that he has mostly been working not on a case, but on trying to get into her husband’s head. He has been carefully analyzing all the possible ways the State's Attorney might try to screw him, and Lockhart/Gardner, and how to block him from doing so. It’s not easy – Peter Florrick is smart, ruthless, and unpredictable. Especially when it comes to his wife. 

To protect Diane, he doesn’t tell her anything that could possibly incriminate her if things blow up in his face. One of the options available to him – which is in fact the very reason why he paid tens of thousands of dollars to a private investigator who is known for using methods that are morally ambiguous at best to uncover information – is essentially blackmail. 

He really wishes that Alicia had married a doctor, or a carpenter, or pretty much _anyone_ instead of the then future State’s Attorney of Cook County.


	26. Day 31-32

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it’s been more than a month since my last update, but work has been a nightmare lately, and I just haven’t had the energy to write. Plus this chapter was particularly tricky. You’ll understand why when you read it.
> 
> Happy holidays! Hopefully 2021 will be better.

**Her**

When Alicia wakes up, she is absolutely _ravenous_. 

At first, she can’t quite believe it. In fact, she can barely even recognize the feeling not only of hunger, but of _wanting_ to eat. More often than not these last few weeks, her days have started by retching up the meagre contents of her stomach. Eating something – _anything_ \- has been a constant struggle. But today, she doesn’t feel sick at all. She is just really, _really_ hungry. 

She has four sandwiches and two large glasses of orange juice for breakfast. Then she eats two apples in the car on the way to work. This almost wolf-like hunger is something new, something she didn’t experience in her first two pregnancies. It is a relief to actually _eat_ something, but at the same time, she finds it unsettling how hard it is to focus on anything that is not... _food_. 

She passes Will in the hallway while she is eating a banana. He raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t say anything, he just nods politely to her, as if she were just any other employee. He is talking to a client, and even if he weren’t, as her boss it wouldn’t be appropriate to ask her about what she is eating anyway. 

A few minutes later, she receives a text. 

So you’re eating now?  
  
I woke up hungry. I have no control over my body anymore.  
  


He replies with a smiling emoji. 

**Day 32**

****

****

**Her**

Louis Canning is quite possibly the most intelligent person she has ever met, although she would never admit it to his face. 

She doesn’t really do lunch meetings these days, because she is usually asleep in Will’s bed at lunchtime. But a lunch invitation from Louis Canning was unusual enough for her to change her schedule – she went to Will’s place early, cut down her nap by 45 minutes, and suggested a late lunch. She can’t shake the feeling that she is being played, which he has admittedly done several times in the past. But she has no idea how, or why.But even though she knows Canning might be trying to mess with her head - at least there’s food. Lots of food. If Canning is surprised by her generous order, he is too polite to say anything about it. 

Although she hadn’t really been sure about Louis Canning’s motives for inviting her for lunch, she hadn’t quite expected him to try to poach her. She tries to focus on his words instead of how she really wants some scrambled eggs, even though it’s on the restaurant’s breakfast menu, while he lists the reasons why she should leave Lockhart/Gardner. 

“We are also family friendly,” he says, and she has to fight an urge to roll her eyes. Playing the family card? Really? She fights the temptation to ask him if he would say that if she were a man. But his next words throw her for a loop. “We also have a very good maternity leave package.” 

It’s as if all air is sucked out from her lungs for a second, and she clutches her fork so hard her knuckles are turning white. Stone-faced, she meets his eyes. “Mr. Canning, I am 43 years old. I have two teenage children. I have no interest in maternity leave packages anymore - although I am flattered that you obviously think me younger.” 

“I know exactly how old you are. What I _don’t_ know is what the maternity leave package is at Lockhart/Gardner. But whatever it is, I’ll double it.” 

“Mr. Canning...” she begins, but he cuts her off. 

“I can always tell when a woman is pregnant,” he says, his voice very low, making sure they won’t be overheard. “There is just... this look in a pregnant woman’s eyes, something about her skin. With my wife’s pregnancies, I knew she was pregnant before she even found out herself.” 

She just stares helplessly at him. 

“I don’t want to pry into your personal life,” he continues. “I’ve heard rumors. Not of your… condition,” he quickly reassures her, his voice still low. He pauses while a waiter passes them, then continues when he is out of earshot. “But I _have_ heard rumors about you and Mr. Gardner. I’ve heard them for quite some time. More recently, however, I have also heard rumors that you have separated from your husband. I am not going to ask you any questions about your personal life, because the identity of the father of your child is none of my business. I just want to let you know you that if circumstances at Lockhart/Garnder were to be difficult because of a situation of a personal nature, I can offer you a highly competitive salary, a very attractive maternity leave package, and an exciting job in a firm free of any... personal complications which may have an impact on your career.” 

He retrieves an envelope from inside his suit, pushes it across the table towards her with a slightly shaking hand. “You don’t need to open it now. You can get back to me whenever you are ready.” 

She stares at the envelope. It has her name on it in neat handwriting. It can’t be Canning’s handwriting, what with his tarditive dyskinesia – and it resembles a woman’s handwriting anyway. Maybe it’s his secretary’s handwriting, or his wife’s. The paper is thick, cream-colored and clearly expensive. There is no logo on the envelope. 

She knows she shouldn’t. 

She puts the envelope into her purse, avoiding Mr. Canning’s eyes as she does. It’s not that she is thinking about leaving Lockhart/Garnder, and certainly not to Mr. Canning’s firm, of all places. But she thinks about what it felt like to sit next to Will during the stupid sexual harassment video. What is it going to be like to work at Lockhart/Gardner when _everyone_ knows? 

When she puts the letter into her handbag, her fingertips brush her phone. Almost reflexively, she checks it. 

She has 14 missed calls from Grace. 

And then all hell breaks loose. 

* * *

**Him**

He is still short of breath when he exits the elevator. The door to her apartment is open, and he can see Alicia hugging her daughter, her hands clearly shaking. He hears that she is crying, and it tugs at something in him. Halfway out of view, he sees the back of a tall man – it must be Peter. None of them appear to have noticed him. Peter takes a few steps towards his wife and daughter, thankfully still with his back towards the open door, touching the shoulders of them both. The State’s Attorney says something, he can’t quite hear what - his voice is low, the tone clearly loving and soothing. 

Will quickly retreats into the elevator, his heart beating wildly. If Peter sees him here... 

It stings, seeing Alicia and Peter together like this. They are unmistakably a family, and the bond and trust between them are evident. 

Will has been an outsider more or less all his life. He may not have looked like one from the outside – always having plenty of friends, and a string of women. But he realizes that he has had very few meaningful, long-lasting relations with other people. Friendships that have gone beyond sports, partying, or a combination of both. Romantic relationships that have gone beyond casual sex for a few months at most. 

He has never seemed to be able to truly invest in and commit to a long-lasting relationship. He has been all work hard – play hard. He has mostly gone from one fling to another, while telling both himself and the women that he has been focusing on his job. More than once, usually after yet another break-up which hasn’t really been all that upsetting, he has wondered whether he is simply unable to be in a committed relationship. Whether he is somehow emotionally stunted. Whether he will be better off alone, or whether his ex-girlfriends will be better off without him in the long run. 

His friendships with Kalinda and Diane, although very different, are two of the very few relationships he has which are important to him – but even with them, he hasn’t let them get too close. 

And then there is Alicia. 

He knows very well that the future of his relationship – his _affair_ \- with Alicia completely up in the air at the moment. Although they are going to have a baby together, being in an actual relationship is not part of the deal. But regardless of what happens between Alicia and him in the future, he wonders whether he will always be number two. Whether he will always just be the man who came after Peter Florrick – who was the man she decided to marry, to spend her life with, to have children with. 

Whereas his continued presence in her life is just... a consequence of failed birth control.

What will Grace think of him when she finds out that he is her mother’s lover, that he has made her pregnant - and that by doing so, he has in effect torn her parents’ marriage apart? He knows that Zach and Grace love their father, and by all accounts, Peter is a good father. Will Alicia’s children in time come to accept him, maybe even like him - or will every interaction between them be as awkward as the one time he spoke with Zach? Will they want to be around him at all? If there is an ice front between him and Alicia’s children, spending time with their child will be difficult at best. And he wants to be there for his baby. He doesn’t just want to see his son or daughter from time to time. 

Back in his car, he sits behind the wheel for a long time, staring blindly in front of him. Finally, he texts her. 

So glad Grace is safe. Are you okay? Text or call me if you need to talk.  
  


She doesn’t respond. 

* * *

**Her**

Grace is asleep in her own bed. 

Grace is safe. 

Alicia wants to lock the door to her apartment and never open it. She just wants to keep her daughter safely inside, all of them together. In her home, where nothing and no one can hurt her family. 

“I thought... I thought Grace was...” She can’t even complete the sentence without starting to cry again. She doesn’t think she has ever felt this mentally drained in her life. 

“She is okay, Alicia,” Peter says, his deep voice low and soothing. 

He stayed, and she is glad he did. Peter is the only person who can understand how she felt today. She knows her husband is a powerful man, but today, she truly saw what he can do to protect his family. The lengths he’ll go to, without blinking an eye, to protect the people he loves. 

He takes her hand in his. His grip is strong and comforting, his skin is warm against hers. “Thank you,” she whispers. “What do you think we would have done if... if anything had...” 

“Don’t, Alicia,” Peter says, drying the tears from her cheeks with his thumbs as he gently holds her face between his hands. “Nothing happened. Grace was safe all along. It was just a misunderstanding. Okay? I know you tend to blame yourself, always, but please don’t blame yourself for this. Our daughter is safe.” 

She takes a deep, shaking breath, and nods. “Okay,” she says, her voice not quite steady. 

He smiles – a smile that momentarily takes her back in time. To when they first met. To when they were in their 20s, and life was less complicated. Their eyes meet, and she holds her breath, feeling the heat from his hands against the skin of her jaw and neck. 

He clears his throat. “It’s late,” he says finally says. “I guess I need to go home.” 

He is still touching her. 

And she knows that’s Peter giving her the opportunity to ask him to stay. In the spare room, or – in her bed room. They used to live in this apartment together. It was her home, and then it became his home, too. She was never quite sure whether or not it became _their_ home. 

And she doesn’t ask him to stay. Of course she doesn’t. 

If Peter is disappointed, he doesn’t say anything. She expects him to open the door and leave, his coat is already hanging over his arm, but he doesn’t. Instead, probably having seen that she is still close to tears, he reaches for her, and she opens her arms, accepting his comfort. 

He holds her close. His body is tall and strong and muscular against her own slight frame, and the familiarity, the _safety_ of his embrace is so comforting. 

“Goodnight,” he whispers against her ear, his nose buried in her hair. 

“Goodnight,” she replies, her face pressed against his chest. 

Then she feels how he suddenly freezes in her arms. Feels how the muscles of his upper body tense. His hands close around her upper arms as he pulls them apart. He is not hurting her, his grip is just on the right side of uncomfortable, but he is also not allowing her to move away from him. He holds her still. 

Then he looks down. At her belly. 

It’s really only barely noticeable. But Peter has known her body for so long. He has known it so intimately, every single part of her. 

And he has seen this before. _Felt_ this before. 

“You are pregnant,” he says, his voice surprisingly calm. It is not a question. He releases her, quickly, as if he has been burned. So quickly that she almost loses her balance. 

Strangely, the thought that goes through her head is that of all the ways her husband could find out, this is probably one of the worst. 

She has thought about this, obviously. A lot. She has planned a number of things she could say to her husband - explanations, accusations, apologies. She has also imagined how he would respond – hurt, anger, jealousy, maybe even rage. The only thing all the scenarios she has imagined have in common, was that none of them ended well. But now that she is finally here – Peter knows, and it is real - she finds that there is nothing to explain. There is no need to accuse him of anything, to remind him that his infidelity was what tore their marriage apart, not hers. And she does not apologize. 

There is only the truth. 

“Yes,” she confirms. 

“For how long have you been hiding this from me?” His voice is little more than a low growl. 

“About a month,” she answers, keeping her own voice low too. She cannot, under any circumstance, wake up their children. Then she corrects herself. “27 days.” 

“And it’s Will’s.” It’s a statement, not a question. 

“Yes.” 

Peter’s jaw clenches, his knuckles are white as he clenches his fists. She holds her breath, waits. Waits for her husband to say something, do something. _Anything_. 

But her husband doesn’t do any of the things she has imagined he would. He doesn’t yell accusations, insults, or threatens to sue her for custody of Zach and Grace. He doesn’t punch the wall or throw anything. He doesn’t press for details of her affair with her boss – how long it’s been going on, how it started, if he has been in her apartment, whether he had met their children. 

All her husband does, is turn his back on her as he leaves her apartment. He doesn’t say a word, he doesn’t even look at her. 

She follows him into the hallway. “What are you going to do?” she whispers insistently, mindful of her neighbors who absolutely cannot overhear this conversation. Peter doesn’t answer. He presses the button and patiently waits for the elevator. He stares at the closed elevator doors, completely ignoring her. His face is perfectly neutral. His apparent lack of reaction is somehow far scarier than the rage she had expected. 

“Don’t do anything stupid,” she says, as the elevator dings and the doors open. “I know you’re angry, but be angry at _me_.” 

“Anger has nothing to do with this, Alicia,” he says, meeting her eyes for the first time. His eyes are dark, almost black. She has never seen that look in his eyes before, she can’t even describe what it is that she sees. Then the elevator doors close between them, and he is gone. 

She gasps, needs to steady herself with a hand on the wall to keep herself upright. She can barely breathe, and for a second she fears she is about to faint - the room seems to disappear around her, everything becomes dark. 

She stumbles into her apartment, closes the door, and sits down on the floor in hallway with her head between her knees. When she is finally able to stand up, her knees still shaky, she tries to remember where she put her phone. It’s not in her purse, or on the kitchen table, or counter, or in the living room... She finally finds it in the pocket of her coat. 

There’s a message from Will. 

So glad Grace is safe. Are you okay? Text or call me if you need to talk.  
  


He sent the message several hours ago, she realizes. 

He picks up on the first ring. “Alicia?” 

She starts sobbing into the phone at the sound of his voice. 

“Alicia, what’s going on?” He sounds worried. 

“He knows,” she is finally able to say. “Peter found out. He knows I’m pregnant, and he knows it’s yours.” 

“When did he find out?” Will’s voice is suddenly surprisingly businesslike. 

“Ten minutes ago.” 

“Is he still there?” 

“No.” 

“Are you alright, Alicia?” When she doesn’t answer, he asks, insistently; “Alicia, did Peter hurt you?” 

“No!” she almost shouts into the phone. She takes a deep breath, knowing she can’t wake the children. “No, of course he didn’t,” she whispers. 

“Do you need me to come over?” 

“No, don’t come over. The children could...” She swallows. She will have to tell the children. Soon. What are they going to say? “I’m alright. We’ll talk tomorrow. Just... be careful. I have no idea what Peter will do.” 

* * *

**Him**

After he hangs up, he pours himself a drink. A double. Then he goes to his bedroom, opens the safe, and retrieves a flash drive. He then returns to the living room and sits down in an armchair, gulping down half the contents of his glass. The TV is off, his phone is lying on the table in front of him, next to the flash drive. He picks up his phone and checks the security camera settings, just to be sure. Then he puts the phone back on the table and just sits. Waiting. 

He is ready. 

He knows exactly how long it takes to drive from Alicia’s place to his. At this time of the night, the traffic is light, and he estimates it would take half an hour - 35 minutes at most. 

It’s not until 57 minutes after Alicia called, however, that he hears a knock on the door. The knock is curt, controlled. Will doesn’t even bother to view through the peephole, he just opens the door. 

Peter is leaning against the doorway. There is cool rage in his eyes. 

“Peter.” 

“Will.” 

“Why don’t you come inside.” 

Their exchange is strangely civil. Almost normal. 

Peter is taller than me, he thinks. His build is heavier too – Alicia’s husband has 20 pounds on him at least. Will’s only physical advantage is that he is probably more fit than the State’s Attorney. 

They used to play basketball together, years ago, at his Wednesday night pick-up games. At the time he had told himself that inviting Peter Florrick was purely a business decision. Looking back at it, he can’t help but wonder if there was some element of catharsis involved. 

Will had regretted his decision from the very first pick-up game. Although he was clearly a far superior player, beating the man who would then very likely be the future State’s Attorney of Cook County gave him little joy. He knew that after the game, the older and unquestionably slower man got to go home to his wife. He got to raise their children and to sleep next to her every night. Whereas he himself was – he can’t even remember who he was fucking at the time. Whoever she was – well, _they_ , probably - they were inconsequential, even then. 

He remembers wondering if Alicia thought of him, sometimes. If she even knew that her husband was playing basketball with _him_ , her – well, whatever it was that they were back at Georgetown. 

If Peter, too, had felt uncomfortable playing with him, it was impossible to tell. Peter was an alpha male in a world filled with alpha males, never showing any signs of weakness. Basketball clearly wasn’t Peter’s thing, and when, after a few months, he came up with some feeble excuse why he couldn’t play anymore, Will had been relieved. 

This isn’t a pick-up game, though. Will can outplay Peter on the basketball court, but basketball has rules. Peter is a rule breaker. So is Will, usually, but Peter does have one advantage: He is on the offensive. 

He lets Peter inside, then locks the door behind them. He turns around to face Alicia’s husband, but before he has the chance to realize what is happening, the State’s Attorney’s fist hits him right in the nose. Will hears something crunch, feels something warm and wet run down his face, and then - strangely delayed - a blinding pain shoots through his head. 

Maybe he loses consciousness for a few seconds – in hindsight, he can’t tell. But he finds himself lying on the floor of his hallway with no clear recollection of how he ended up there. Peter towers above him, but the older man doesn’t make a move. He just stands there, his fists clenched, staring down at him. 

He has gone over this scenario many times – both in his head and with Diane - wondering just how far Peter would go. He had expected a physical attack, but he didn’t think Peter would seriously injure him. For a split second, he thinks that he may have been wrong. That he has made a terrible mistake. Looking up at the tall man towering above him, Peter Florrick reminds him of an injured bear. And an injured bear is highly unpredictable and may attack anything and anyone. 

“Get up, you son of a bitch,” Peter sneers, and then he turns his back on him, walking uninvited into his living room. 

He needs to steady himself against the wall for a few seconds before he can follow the older and taller man. His nose is probably broken, but he’s not worried about that right now. In the past, he has broken his nose no less than three times on the basketball court. It’s unpleasant, and he will need to go to the ER to have it checked out, but it will pass. 

This is what he and Diane were counting on - that Peter Florrick is too sensible to cause him serious injury. A jury would probably think that Will deserves being punched in the face by Peter for knocking up the other man’s wife, but they wouldn’t accept flat-out assault, causing serious injuries. 

Peter knows that, of course. 

Peter is helping himself to a glass of scotch. A large one. Peter glares at him as Will gets paper towels from the kitchen to clean up the worst of the blood, his nose pounding. He gets an ice pack from the freezer, wraps it in a kitchen towel, then applies it to his nose. 

Peter pours Will a glass of scotch, too, and offers him the glass. Will accepts it. He almost chuckles as he does - the gesture is so surreal, considering the circumstances. The alcohol burns as it passes down his throat. Will sits down in his armchair. He is still a bit dizzy, although he hopes the other man hasn’t noticed, and sitting down feels safer than standing. 

“You are pathetic, you know that?” Peter says, sounding almost amused as he shakes his head, looking at the swirling golden liquid in his glass. “Going after other men’s wives.” 

“You mean more pathetic than cheating on your wife with prostitutes?” 

Peter doesn’t answer his question. He just smiles – an eerie smile that makes him feel deeply uncomfortable. “Alicia was the one who got away, wasn’t she?” 

Will just stares defiantly at him without answering. He takes another sip of scotch. 

Then Peter continues: “I knew you wanted her back in law school. It was impossible not to notice, with you unsuccessfully trying to hide that you were staring at her all the time. Everyone knew, even before that time when you _danced_.” So Peter obviously remembered the dancing incident, too. He’s not really surprised. “But she didn’t want you, now did she? Alicia chose _me_. She married _me_ , and _we_ built a life together. Meanwhile, you gambled, stole, lied, fucked countless women, and defended any and every scum who could afford to pay for your services.” Peter tilts his head, still with that eerie smile on his face. “But when I was in jail, you realized you could take advantage of the situation, didn’t you? Alicia came to you, desperate for a job to provide for her family. And you realized you could finally get what you’ve been dreaming of ever since Georgetown.” 

__

__

He realizes that although Peter’s words are offensive, there is also an element of truth in them. The power imbalance between Alicia and him has been an issue every since she started working for Lockhart/Gardner. They never discussed it, and he has certainly never considered Alicia his inferior when it comes to their relationship. But still, the imbalance is there. It was always there - in staff meetings, in the courtroom, in every time he paid for their hotel rooms. 

“Alicia is perfectly capable of making her own decisions. Such as deciding to leave a husband who cheated on her.” 

“I knew you were sleeping with her back when I was in jail,” Peter growls. Will doesn’t attempt to deny it. If he tells her husband that their affair is actually much more recent, Peter won’t believe him – and it doesn’t really make a difference anyway. “But getting her _pregnant_?” Peter shakes his head in disbelief, actually chuckling. “You know, considering my own history of failing to honor my marital vows, I _may_ have forgiven her for cheating on me. But getting knocked up by her boss, and then jeopardizing her entire family by keeping the baby? Because she is keeping it, isn’t she? 

“This is a discussion you need to have with Alicia, not me.” 

Peter snorts. “There is no need to discuss it with Alicia. I know her. When it comes down to it, she wouldn’t terminate a pregnancy just because of the paternity of the baby. Which is incredibly foolish, not to mention insulting to her _husband_.” Peter stresses the last words, as he puts his now empty glass down on the table. “Still, she is my wife. I love her. She is the mother of my children, and we are a family. You, though – that's another story. Unlike Alicia, I don’t owe you anything. And I am going to destroy you.” Peter’s voice is dangerously silky and smooth as he stresses the two final words. 

Will can taste the blood on the back of his tongue. He takes another sip of scotch, needing something more than an ice pack to numb the pain. “No, you won’t.” 

“Oh yeah?” Peter laughs out loud. “I’m going to tear your firm apart. There won’t be anything left of it, anything left of _you_ , when I’m done. Wendy Scott-Carr is already on it, I just didn’t know Alicia would give me an even more compelling reason to take you down. You will go to jail, and while you rot behind bars, I will go after your assets. By the time you get out, you’ll be poor and old – you definitely won’t eligible bachelor material anymore.” Peter snickers. “And if you try to go somewhere else to start over when you get out of jail – forget it. I have contacts all over the country. You’ll never practice law again.” 

Will pushes the flash drive across the table towards the other man. “You might want to look at the contents of this before you make any rash decisions.” 

Peter picks up the flash drive without looking down at it. His eyes are locked on his own. 

“Don’t you want to know what’s on it?” Will smiles. He picks up his phone, quickly types something. In Peter’s pocket, his cell phone buzzes. “It’s encrypted. I just texted you the password. I think you’ll find the contents most interesting.” 

Peter’s fist clenches around the flash drive. 

“Right now, you’re probably desperately going over all the things you’ve ever said or done - professionally and personally - that wouldn’t look good if the press got wind of it. Well – let’s just say there are a number of files on there that will refresh your memory. Bribes, corruption, abuse of power – helping Kalinda get a new identity, _then_ sleeping with her? And what do you think it will do to Alicia if she finds out about all those other women? The first affair I have found so far dates back to when Grace was a _toddler_. Alicia won’t talk to you ever again.“ 

“If she finds out the information comes from you, she won’t talk to you either,” Peter says, his voice dangerously low. 

“Maybe she won’t. But I’m willing to take that chance.” Will takes another sip of scotch. “If you go after me, or my firm, I will dump the information on that flash drive online. Every day, I will release something new. Imagine how the scandal will grow exponentially with every new photo, every email, every hotel receipt. And who knows, I might even throw in a few things that aren’t strictly speaking true as well, just to spice things up - but no one is going to notice, and no one is going to care. You’ll never run for public office again. And in my professional opinion, having seen analyzed the contents of that flash drive, you’ll probably go back to jail. Maybe we can share a cell, wouldn’t that be fun?” 

Will grins. He leans back in the chair, emptying his glass. “Besides,” he adds, “You have another very good reason not to go after me.” 

“And what would that be?” The State’s Attorney growls. 

“Wendy Scott-Carr.” 

“What about her?” Peter actually laughs. 

“She's not really after me – she's after you.” 

“What are you talking about?” For the first time, Peter Florrick looks surprised. 

“She explicitly told me. I don’t know why I didn’t see it sooner, because this witch hunt for me doesn’t really make any sense, now does it? I’m not really that important – I'm just another sleazy defense lawyer. Chicago is full of bastards like me. And it’s not really about judicial bribery either. Scott-Carr wants _you_. She wants revenge for losing the election against you. She wants revenge for all the shit your campaign threw at her and her family.” He chuckles. “” _Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned_.’ Which, after the last two years, you should know very well.” He leans forward, ignoring the blood that is still dripping from his nose an onto the carpet. “You have three days to call off Scott-Carr’s investigation. On Monday, I will come to your office at two, and we will talk. You will make sure to clear your schedule.” 

Peter doesn’t answer. He gets up, putting the flash drive into the pocket of his suit. For a split second, Will thinks the State’s Attorney will physically attack him again. 

“This is not over.” Then the older man leaves, without another word. 

After hearing the door close, Will sinks back in his chair, gasping for breath. He looks at his hands, still covered in blood. He goes to his bathroom to wash off the blood and locate some painkillers, then sends a few texts. 

He texts Diane first. 

Peter Florrick knows. Everything went more or less according to plan.  
  


Then he sends one to Alicia. 

Peter has left. I’m okay. We’ll talk tomorrow. Try to get some sleep.  
  


He has just sent the text to Alicia when he receives Diane’s answer. 

You alright?  
  
Yeah. Heading to the ER, nose probably broken.  
  
Can’t really blame the guy.  
  


He laughs, which makes his nose hurt even more. Then he takes the elevator down to the parking garage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, the cat is finally out of the bag!!! 
> 
> I am rewatching the series (again), and in one episode – I can’t quite remember which one at the top of my head (was it when Diane testified in front of the grand jury?) it was mentioned in passing that Peter used to be part of Will’s Wednesday night pick-up games. Which really got me thinking. How that went down could easily be a fic in its own right, but I couldn’t resist mentioning it here. 
> 
> I am also partly using my own experiences when writing about Alicia’s pregnancy. I haven’t woken up ravenous like she does, but I did wake up one morning when I was eight weeks pregnant with my first child to find that my 24/7 nausea was just… gone. Like magic. And I vividly remember the time when I was in my first trimester and I actually wanted to murder my husband because he served himself first at dinner. I was totally ready to fight him to have that spaghetti! 
> 
> And the part about Canning being able to tell that Alicia was pregnant? Some people are actually like that. A colleague of mine could tell that I was pregnant before I even found out myself. When I asked her how she could tell, her explanation was the same that Canning gives Alicia.


	27. Day 33 (part one)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to split this chapter, because there is a lot going on here, and well - I know I kept you waiting in November/December, and I'm trying to make up for it. :) 
> 
> Sometimes a story just takes on a life of its own, and that's kind of what happened in this chapter (both in part one and in part two). There were some things I had planned to do later on that just... happened. So I decided to go with the flow and let the characters decide. 
> 
> Happy New Year! (And wth is going in in DC?! I am watching it live on CNN right now! I hope 2021 doesn't become a sh*itshow like 2020 was, but 2021 is certainly not getting off to a good start - what with mutant viruses, record high covid stats in the northern hemisphere, and what is basically a coup?)

**Her**

“I have time at 11 if you want to discuss your divorce.” 

She looks up from her laptop to see David Lee standing in the doorway. 

“What?” She just stares at him in shock. Her mouth is dry. “David, I, uh... the door is _open_ ,” she hisses. Thankfully, no one is passing by her office just now. 

David Lee rolls his eyes. “Judging from the state of Will’s face this morning, you’ll need to talk to me. Today.” 

“Will’s _face_?” 

She has a terrible, sinking feeling in her gut. 

Will is in Diane’s office, sitting with his back towards the door. Alicia doesn’t knock, she just barges in. Diane looks disapprovingly at her from over the rim of her reading glasses, and Alicia fleetingly thinks that perhaps this wasn’t a good idea. The thought immediately vanishes when Will turns around and she sees the splint on the bridge of his nose and the bruising under his eyes. 

She gasps. “Will...” 

Will gets up and approaches her. He touches her upper arm, perhaps to comfort her, she has no idea, but she doesn’t allow it, shaking him off. Will takes a step back, his eyes wary. 

“What did Peter do to you?” She says under her breath. “You told me last night that you were okay!” 

“I am okay.” 

“This is _not_ what okay looks like!” She gestures towards his face, her voice rising towards the end of the sentence. Then she bites her lip, glancing guiltily at Diane. 

“Oh, don’t mind me,” Diane says drily. “I’ll give you two some privacy. In my _own_ office.” 

When Diane passes her on her way out, Diane mutters something under her breath that sounds like ‘drama’, but Alicia isn't quite sure. 

“I _am_ fine, Alicia,” he says, as she glares at him, trying to keep her tears back. Dammit. Pregnancy hormones are such a nuisance. “I went to the ER last night just to make sure. I’m fine.” 

“You went to the _ER_?” 

“Alicia, relax, okay?” 

“ _Don’t tell me to relax!_ ” 

“We are in Diane’s office, and if you keep yelling like this, our little secret is going to be out in about two minutes,” Will tells her, his voice perfectly calm - and if he hadn’t been _right_ , she would definitely have picked a fight with him, because he certainly deserves it. Texting her that he is okay, and then he goes to the ER without telling her? After having been injured by _her_ husband? That’s just bullshit. 

But she does see the looks that the three first-year associates that pass by Diane’s office give them through the glass. So instead of yelling at Will, she sends him a look that she hopes conveys that she is pissed off and that there will be consequences.

Later. 

She has no idea if he gets the message, because he keeps talking in that annoyingly calm tone. “I’ve had a broken nose before, so I know the drill. The trip to the ER was just a precaution and I can assure you it was entirely uneventful. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to worry you or keep you up. There was no need for a manual replacement or surgery. They just put on a splint and gave me some painkillers and sent me home. I'll be fine.” 

“Will, I...” 

“No,” he says, his voice stern now. “Don’t, Alicia. Don’t tell me you’re sorry. This is not your fault, there is no reason to apologize. And _don’t_ tell me you’ll confront Peter about this. What happened last night is between Peter and me. Believe me, if I were in his shoes, I might not have stopped at a broken nose.” 

She crosses her arms over her chest. “What did Peter say to you last night?” 

“Well, he wasn’t happy, obviously, seeing as how I had gotten his wife pregnant.” 

“And?” 

“And the less you know, the better.” 

“You are insufferable,” she nearly spits at him. “I deserve to know. This is my life, too. In case you haven’t noticed, this thing is happening to _my_ body. _My_ marriage is on the line here.” 

“It’s a baby, not a ‘thing’,” he corrects her. “And your marriage was ruined long before I came into the picture.” 

“Will...” 

“No. I’m trying to keep you away from a grand jury, don’t you get that?” 

“I don’t care,” she hisses. 

“But I do. This is not up for discussion, Alicia.” 

She notices that the three first-year associates that looked strangely at her a few minutes ago are back, and she realizes that they probably took a second turn by Diane’s office to get more intel to share with the rest of the office. She needs to calm down. And in order to do that, she simply cannot be in the same room as Will right now. 

“This discussion is not over,” she says over her shoulder. 

“Yes, it is.” 

She resists the urge to slam the door behind her. 

* * *

**Her**

Never has she dreaded Peter coming to get their children more than she does today. 

Thankfully, Peter is always on time. The doorbell rings at eight sharp. She had known that it would, so she has conveniently gone to the bathroom, ensuring that Grace will open the door. She doesn’t come out of the bathroom until she hears that Zach bumps his all-too-big bag, filled with way too much stuff for just a weekend as usual, against the wall. She knows that means they’ll be off soon. And she has to say goodbye to her children, or they’ll realize something is wrong. 

To her surprise, Peter looks just like he always does. She doesn’t even see a hint of animosity in his features. 

“Peter.” 

“Hey, Alicia.” He even smiles when he sees her. 

Peter’s face isn’t bruised. His long, black winter coat is open, making him look even taller and more intimidating than usual. He has a smile on his face, and even though Peter is a politician – and in order to be a successful politician, you also have to be a terrific actor - she knows him well. It’s a smile that is meant for the children only - who appear oblivious to the tension between their parents. Thank God. 

“So do you guys have any exciting plans for the weekend?” She asks, plastering a smile on her own face as well. 

“We were thinking about going to one of those Escape Rooms,” Grace answers. “It’s where they shut you in a room, and the group has one hour to figure out how to get out.” 

“Sounds fun,” Alicia smiles. 

“How about you, Mom? Do you have any plans?” 

She knows that Grace is worried about her mother being lonely when she and Zach are at their father’s. Her daughter, of course, has no idea that her mother has been anything but lonely when it’s Peter’s weekend to have the children. 

And now her husband knows that too. 

“Not much, I guess,” she lies. “I’ll catch up on laundry, work on a few cases. Maybe I’ll call Owen and ask him over for a drink tomorrow night.” 

“Zach, why don’t you and Grace go down to the parking garage,” Peter says, handing his car keys to his son. “I just need a quick word with your mother before we go.” 

They stand in silence, just staring at each other, until they hear the elevator doors close. 

“You hit him,” she hisses. “You broke his nose!” 

“I broke Will’s nose?” Peter chuckles. “Well, I guess my punch was even better than I thought.” Damn this man and his arrogance - now _she_ is feeling like punching _him_. “You clearly haven’t told the children about your _circumstances_ yet.” 

“No,” she admits. “I was hoping to wait a few more weeks. Which is why I need you to keep your mouth shut this weekend.” 

“And why exactly would I agree to do you any favors?” Peter raises an eyebrow. 

“Because they are _our_ children. I know you’re really pissed off at me right now, and despite you sleeping with hookers and underlings, and despite us being separated at the time I got pregnant, I guess you have the right to be. But the risk of miscarriage or fetal abnormalities is still high, and I don’t want to hurt Zach and Grace if I don’t have to.” 

“Wow, you are such a selfish bitch.” Peter just shakes his head, as if he can’t quite believe what he is hearing. “So if you have an abortion, or a miscarriage, everything is okay? We can just pretend the whole cheating and getting pregnant with your boss thing didn’t happen?” 

“No,” she says. “Of course not. But then the children don’t have to know.” 

“So what exactly are the odds you’ll miscarry or have an abortion because the fetus has a chromosomal abnormality or a birth defect? Because knowing you, I bet you do know the odds.” She cringes, because she _does_ know - but she’s not about to tell him that. She just stares defiantly at him as he continues. “You have also probably been debating with yourself whether or not you’re _hoping_ you’ll miscarry, so you don’t have to tell Zach and Grace, and they don’t have to find out that you are actually just as flawed as I am.” 

Her nails are digging into her palms. “Fuck you, Peter.” 

Her husband actually has the nerve to laugh in her face. 

“You know what, Alicia? I don’t care. You made your bed – quite literally - and now you’ll have to lie in it, too. I won’t tell the children, because _you_ should be the one to inflict that pain on them.” His voice is cold, and she doesn’t think Peter has said anything to her, ever, that has been more hurtful. 

His phone buzzes in his coat pocket, and he looks at it. “Zach is wondering where I am.” He puts his phone back into his pocket. “I need to go.” He doesn’t, though. “You know, the talk I had with Will yesterday was quite... enlightening. In more ways than one.” He smiles, and now his smile is downright scary. “I can’t wait to see you two crash and burn. You are a hot mess, Alicia - torn between protecting your perfect mother image and just needing someone to fuck. But Will – the poor bastard _loves_ you.” Peter leans closer to her. “I bet he’s been in love with you ever since Georgetown.” 

Their eyes are locked for several uncomfortable seconds, he is standing so close she can feel the heat of his breath against her face. Then he takes a few steps to the side, their shoulders very nearly brushing as he passes her. 

“So you live with that, Alicia. You live with knowing that you’ll inevitably break his heart, too.” 

The door closes behind him with an almost inaudible click. 

_He’s just messing with your head_ , she tells herself. _It’s what he does best. He’s a master manipulator_. 

She just hasn’t been on the receiving end of it before. Well, at least it hasn’t been this _obvious_ before. Looking back at it, she knows Peter has probably manipulated her for a long time. Does she really believe that Kalinda was the first woman he cheated on her with? 

Not bloody likely. 

Dammit. _Dammit_. 

She sits down on the couch, checking her phone. There are no messages from Will. He knows it’s Peter’s weekend, of course. And when Peter has the children for the weekend, she and Will always have roughly 46 hours of near-constant physical contact. But this weekend, they haven’t made any plans, which is a first. 

Before, when they have decided to spend the weekend at her place, Will has always shown up at 8:45. On the dot. He is just as punctual as her husband is. Her soon to be ex-husband, she corrects herself. 

She wonders how long it will take her to get used to think of Peter as her ex-husband. 

So she waits. 8:30 PM. 8:35. 

At 8:50, Will is still not there. She checks the traffic updates – traffic is normal. So he can’t be stuck in traffic. 

By 09:05, she knows he won’t come. 

He lied to her and refused to include her. She was furious at him. Then they ignored each other all day. 

And now Peter has told her that Will loves her, and he pretty much implied that that she’ll end up ruining Will's life because she is a terrible person. 

And she knows why Peter did it. He did it to make her panic. So she wouldn’t go to Will. And she is done being manipulated by her husband. 

At 09:25, she gets in her car. 


	28. Day 33 (part two)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finishing part two took longer than I thought (sorry!) because of life, and - well. There was just so much going on in this chapter, because the end of part one didn't leave them in a good place. 
> 
> Thank you for your comments - and your patience!

**Him**

He has just swallowed two of the painkillers he got last night in the ER, which he strongly suspects won’t be strong enough, and is about to go to bed, when there’s a knock on his door. 

This time he does look through the peephole. And although he’s not really surprised to find that it is Alicia, he had kind of hoped it would be pretty much anyone but her. He is not really in the mood to talk to her right now. His nose hurts. Work was awful – he had to make a terrible settlement to keep his client out of the courtroom because he would make such a terrible impression on a jury, Alicia was angry at him all day, and David Lee kept sending him knowing looks, smirking even more than usual. Not to mention that is he is worried about what Peter Florrick might be up to. In short, Will is exhausted, in pain, and his life is a mess, both personally and professionally. He just wants to _sleep_. 

But he opens the door. Of course he does. 

He wordlessly lets her in. Alicia doesn’t say anything, either. She takes off her coat in silence, puts her shoes neatly by the wall next to the door. He can’t help but notice that she doesn’t bring an overnight bag. She follows him into the living room where he stops and looks expectantly at her. She crosses her arms over her chest. 

“We didn’t talk about where to spend this weekend,” she finally says. 

“No, we didn’t.” 

“I wasn’t going to come tonight,” she admits, somewhat reluctantly. “I was really pissed at you earlier today.” 

“I noticed,” he says drily. “Yet here you are.” 

She doesn’t answer right away. He can tell that she is studying his face – the bruising and his still splinted nose. She has that look on her face that he now recognizes as guilt, and he has to clench his fists to keep his temper in check. He _told_ her his broken nose wasn’t her fault, but she clearly didn’t listen. But even though Alicia wasn’t the only one who was angry earlier today, he also recognizes that his fuse is shorter than normal right now because he is tired and in pain. And snapping at her is just not going to be very productive. 

“Yes,” she finally answers. “I came because I really think we should talk.” 

“We definitely need to talk,” he agrees. “But tonight is not the right time. I’m beat.” He chuckles at his poor voice of words. “Both literally and figuratively, I guess.” 

Alicia doesn’t laugh, though. “Can I stay here tonight?” She asks, her voice low. She has never asked before. There has never been any reason for her to ask. 

“I’m not really into angry sex, Alicia,” he says. “Besides, even if we weren’t fighting, I wouldn’t be much fun tonight. I was hoping to pass out as soon as my head hits the pillow. Hopefully the _back_ of my head will hit the pillow,” he corrects himself. “My nose really shouldn’t meet anything at all for the next few weeks.” 

“I can assure you that sex is the furthest thing from my mind right now,” she says, and he’s not quite sure if she is insulted or somewhat amused. 

“Some affair,” he mutters under his breath, his voice is intentionally just loud enough for her to hear, but the wry smile on his lips takes the sting off his words. She laughs, which was exactly the reaction he was hoping for. 

“I don’t want to fight with you, Will,” she says, and her voice sounds tired. “We are in enough trouble as it is. The last thing we need, is to turn on each other.” 

“I don’t want to fight with you either.” She has no idea just how much trouble he is really in, though – because he is not convinced that the USB flash drive he gave the State’s Attorney will be enough. He doesn’t want to talk about Peter and his vendetta, though. There is nothing either of them can do about it now anyway. Instead, he runs his thumb along her right cheekbone, then tucks a stray strand of hair behind her ear. She smells clean - of shampoo and her body lotion. “Were you planning on sleeping in my bed? Or are you still too pissed at me? Because the guest room is yours if you want it.” 

She shakes her head. “I want to sleep next to you. If that’s okay with you.” 

“It’s okay.” 

He starts going towards the bedroom, but she stops him. “Wait.” She nervously licks her lips. “I _am_ sorry about what Peter did to you. I know you two seem to think that it’s a man thing, going all cave man over me or whatever the hell you are doing. But that’s just _stupid_ , and Peter did hurt you because of me, and I’m sorry. And you need to allow me to say that I’m sorry.” 

The words seem to just tumble out of her mouth. Alicia is not only a lawyer, she is also the wife of a politician. If she had planned what to say, if she had practiced before she came here, she would be far more eloquent than this. He thinks she may have tears in her eyes, but he’s not sure. 

“I told you not to apologize to me,” he says. “But you keep doing it anyway. I assume you talked to Peter about the incident yesterday, too?” He asks drily, although he already knows the answer from the look in her eyes. “I mean, you clearly don’t listen to a word I say.” 

“Yes, I did talk to him. And I’m not sorry I did.” 

She looks different now, he realizes. Eyes clear, back straight, with her head held high and her chin pushed forward. She looks determined. 

She hasn’t looked like this in a while. Since they found out about the pregnancy, Alicia has all too often appeared riddled with fear and guilt. The Alicia that is standing in front of him right now is starting to take control of her own life again. He realizes that she doesn’t look determined, she looks _d_ _efiant_. She looks like she does in court, when she is fighting for a client she truly believes in. 

He always loves watching her in court. 

“How did it go today?” He asks. “With Peter?” 

“As well as could be expected, I guess.” She shakes her head, chuckling at her own choice of words. “I guess ’well’ isn’t the right word. It was a disaster, really.” 

“I can imagine. Did the children notice that anything was off?” 

She shakes her head. “No, I don’t think so. Peter sent them down to the car so we could talk. We agreed not to tell them yet. Well, again ‘agree’ is probably not the right word.” She rolls her eyes. “I _told_ him not to tell the children about the pregnancy and our divorce this weekend. Peter agreed, because he said he wants _me_ to be the one to hurt them, not him.” Her voice cracks, just ever so slightly. He probably wouldn’t even have noticed if he hadn’t known her so well. 

“How long are you planning to wait?” He asks, more gently now. “Because you’re starting to show. You can’t put this off much longer. Sooner or later, Zach and Grace will notice. I know telling them is going to be hard, but it’s better if you tell them yourself.” 

She sighs. “Well, the next ultrasound is on Monday. I’ll be nine weeks. It’s still early, but some major abnormalities can still be detected. But I was hoping to wait until after the NIPT results come back.” Her voice is tinged with fear. 

“That could easily take two weeks, maybe even longer. Do you really think you can wait that long?” 

“I don’t know.” She pauses, bites her lip. “There might not even be a heartbeat, Will.” Her voice breaks, and she is clearly fighting to hold back tears. He wonders just how much time she spends worrying about the tiny life growing in her womb. 

He reaches for her, and she willingly walks into his arms. He holds her close, feels how her tears seep through the cotton of his t-shirt. 

“I know you think I’m a coward, but I’m trying to protect my children. _All_ of them,” she adds. "And it's not an easy balance." 

“I don’t think you’re a coward, Alicia. You are a lot of things, and lately, I have to admit that ‘infuriating’ has been on my list of words that describe you.” He can feel how she chuckles against his chest, and he kisses the top of her head. ”But coward has never been on that list,” he assures her. 

She goes to the bathroom first. He waits until she is done before he brushes his teeth and undresses. He’s too tired to take a shower. 

When he slips under the sheets, the bed is already warm. 

* * *

**Her**

_You’re wrong_ , she thinks. _I **am** a coward _. 

Will lays on his back, staring up at the ceiling, blinking a few times. He yawns, and she watches the grimace that passes over his face when his hand inadvertently touches his nose as he rubs his eyes, and realizes he’s probably in even more pain than she first thought. She doesn’t think she has ever seen him look this tired and drawn. Not even near the end of their last semester of law school, when they were not only studying for their final exams, which were grueling enough, but they also knew that the bar exam was drawing close. 

Not that they were studying _together_ – that was months after the dancing incident. She wasn't trying to patch things up with Peter anymore, she was planning a _life_ with him, the rest of their lives - because she had made her decision to be with Peter. Forever. 

But she still watched Will in the library from across the room when he wasn’t looking. It seemed like her body was constantly aware of his presence, it was impossible to ignore. And Will looked so _tired_ , and she was so tired too, and all she wanted, was to go over to him and hold him. But she couldn’t. Of course she couldn’t. So she didn’t. And when he looked up from his book - and she knew it was probably a coincidence, he couldn’t possibly be looking in her direction on purpose - but when he _did_ look in her direction anyway, she quickly looked down into her lecture notes. 

She shifts in bed, lays on her back, too. Their bodies are not touching, but their hands are close. She stares up at the ceiling instead of looking at him. Takes a deep breath. She knows he said he is too tired to talk, but she can’t _not_ talk about this any longer. 

“I talked to Peter,” she finally says, and she hesitates, realizing that despite thinking about this ever since she got in her car, she doesn’t really know what to say. “I, uh... He said something about you. And I know he did it just to unhinge me, to get the upper hand. Peter does that to people all the time. But I...” 

“What did he say?” Will asks. She doesn’t look at his face, her eyes are fixed on the ceiling, but his voice sounds... defeated, almost. “Let me guess. Stealing?” She shakes her head. “Corruption? Gambling?” She doesn’t react, and he continues: “So it’s about sex, then. Cheating? Sleeping with married women? Threesomes? Swinging? Am I getting close?” 

“No, you’re not,” she says. Her mouth is dry, and she licks her dry lips before she continues, haltingly. “Peter said that... you love me.” 

She finally dares to send a stolen glance in his direction. He just stares at her in shock, his mouth half open. 

“He said you’ve been in love with me ever since Georgetown.” 

* * *

**Him**

He knows she is trying to hide it, but it’s written all over her face. 

Panic. 

And he knows exactly what Peter Florrick is doing. 

“Fuck, he is such a manipulating piece of _shit_ ,” he spits out, and if his day hadn’t been a nightmare, if he hadn’t been in pain, if hadn’t been this _tired_ , he would’ve been able to keep the vengeance out from his voice. 

She turns her head and stares at him, her eyes wide. She swallows, licks her lips. Finally, she speaks. “So it’s... not true?” Her voice falters at the end of her sentence, ever so slightly. 

And he reminds himself that even though Alicia looks terrified, she did come here. Her husband told her that his rival of two decades is in love with her, knowing full well what it would do to her. 

He doesn’t know how Peter found out that he has been in love with his wife ever since Georgetown. For a split second he wonders if Peter somehow heard the second voicemail and then deleted it from her phone – but he quickly rejects the notion. Peter knows Alicia very well, and he knows exactly how to manipulate her. In college, Peter obviously knew that Will was in love with his wife – it was the very reason why he hated Will so much - and then he assumes Peter just used that old piece of information to come up with the one thing he could say to his wife that could shake her more than anything else. Peter wouldn’t care whether or not it were true, he just wanted to unsettle his wife. 

The question now is what to say to Alicia to keep her from bolting. Because right now, she looks like she’s about to take off. 

_But she_ _knew, and she still_ _came here_ , he reminds himself. _And she invited herself into my bed._

And he’s so tired of all the secrets and all the lies. 

“Will?” Alicia says questioningly, and he suddenly realizes the room has been silent for far too long. 

* * *

**Her**

He closes his eyes, frowns. 

“I didn’t plan to tell you like this,” he says. “I always figured I’d tell you over a fancy dinner. Or maybe in bed, after at least three or four orgasms, I hadn’t quite decided.” 

He laughs, but he doesn’t sound happy. She doesn’t laugh. She just lies very still, watching him. All she can think, is: “ _He has planned this. For how long has he been thinking of saying something_ _without doing it_ _?_ ” 

“I didn’t think I’d tell you that I love you after I’d spent the day worrying about my firm’s future, making a terrible settlement, _and_ fighting with you. And I definitely didn’t think I’d be baring my heart to you while having a pounding headache, desperately hoping that the painkillers will kick in soon, all because I was knocked down by your husband.” He chuckles, then turns his head, opens his eyes, his gaze meeting hers. “I guess it doesn’t get much worse than leaving you a message on your voicemail, anyway.” 

“Voicemail?” She doesn’t understand. 

He swallows. “Remember the second voicemail you didn’t get? The one that your phone gobbled, or whatever?” He starts, somewhat hesitatingly. “And when you asked me what I said in that voicemail, months later, I didn’t tell you? I said it wasn’t important?” 

She nods, remembering the weird place they were in at the time. She was with Peter, but not really. Will was with Tammy, but he seemed sort of awkward or ashamed that he was. And neither of them knew what to do about _them_. Because ‘their thing’, as Cary told it, was always present. In every interaction between them. 

“I didn’t tell you the truth about that voicemail back then because I was hurt,” he continues. “And frankly – I also didn’t tell you because I was scared. And because I was with Tammy. Tammy, who was smart, beautiful, funny, sexy, who loved sports, who loved all the things I love. Tammy, who I actually cheated on, with _you_ . Tammy, who _would’ve_ been the perfect match for me. If only I hadn’t met you first. But I did meet you first. The truth is I’ve probably loved you since our eyes met across the pool at that pool party, in our first week of law school.” 

She listens to his low voice, the light in the room is soft from the still lit bedside lamp on his side, and all she can think is that deep down, she has known all along. 

He studies her face closely, and she has no idea what he might be reading from her expression. It looks like he is expecting a response from her, but she is too stunned to say anything, so he clearly decides to continue anyway. 

“So the truth is that in my second voicemail, I told you that my plan was that I love you, and that I’d probably been in love with you since Georgetown. And I said that we’d figure it out. We’d make the plan together. But then I told you that if you didn’t want to pursue this, if you didn’t feel the same way, you could just ignore my voicemail, and I’d never bring it up again. It would be like it never happened.” 

She looks at him. He is pale, definitely in need of a shave, his hair is standing on end, with a broken nose and bruises on his face from her husband’s fist. But his eyes don’t leave hers. 

“Oh.” 

As the syllable leaves her lips, she knows it’s a stupid response, a _terrible_ response to what he just told her. He bared his heart to her, and she says _‘oh’_. And she knows, from the way she clenches his jaw, just for a split second, that she hurt him. 

Of course she did. Because that’s what she has always done to him, isn’t it? Hurt him. Even when – _especially_ when – she didn’t mean to. 

“And when I didn’t bring it up,” she says slowly, her voice not quite clear, “you thought that meant I wasn’t interested.” 

She thinks back to that press conference. She remembers holding her phone in her hand. The phone was ringing, and it was Will, and she had to get onto the stage. And then she gave the phone to Eli. 

Her phone didn’t gobble that voicemail. 

“So now you know,” he says. “And Peter probably didn’t know anything about that voicemail – there is no way he could have known - but he did know exactly what he was doing when he told you that I love you. He knew you’d panic, and he knew you had two options. If you _didn’t_ talk to me about it, it would eat you up inside. And if you _did_ tell me what he’d said, he knew I’d tell you the truth, and then all your insecurities and issues and guilt would kick in. And because he is a very intelligent son of a bitch who knows you all too well, he knew that regardless of whether or not you chose to tell me, it would tear us apart, because love isn’t what you signed up for. You made that very clear early on in our affair when I accidentally told you on the phone that I loved you. And that,” he says, gesturing towards her midsection, “wasn’t what you signed up for, either. Lifelong ties to another man, whether you like it or not. A second round of labor, diapers, lost sleep, toddler tantrums, homework, hormonal teenagers. Having to raise a child until you are well into your sixties.” 

“No, it wasn’t what I signed up for,” she admits, her voice low. She has tears in her eyes, and blinks them away, quickly. “But we also said it would just be one hour of perfect timing - but when we got in that elevator, I think we both knew it wouldn’t be just that one hour.” Her fingers intertwine with his. “There was too much history. Too much chemistry. It could never be just one hour.” 

“We both knew the sex would just be too good,” he smirks. 

“It was good, wasn’t it?” She kisses his shoulder, slipping her tongue out for a split second as if to taste his skin. 

“Yeah, it was.” She is momentarily brought back to that night, to the excitement of Will’s hands touching her skin, everywhere, for the very first time. “It still is,” he murmurs. “But it’s even better now that I know exactly what you like. How to make you come. What you sound like when you do.” 

“I thought you said you weren’t up for sex tonight,” she reminds him. “Don’t keep talking to me like that if you’re not.” 

“I distinctly remember you saying that sex was the farthest thing from your mind right now.” 

She rolls her eyes. “That was before the dirty talk.” 

“I am still exhausted, though. And in pain.” 

“I know.” She pauses, searches for the right words. Talking about sex with Will is easy. Talking about _this_ isn’t. “Me getting pregnant wasn’t what you signed up for, either,” she points out. “Neither was Peter hurting you so badly you ended up in the ER, or him going after Lockhart/Gardner.” 

“When you sleep with a married woman, the husband going after you sort of comes with the territory,” he objects with a wry smile. “Although I kind of wish you’d married a teacher or a plumber or something instead of the State’s Attorney.” 

“Well, I won’t be married for much longer,” she points out. She needs to pause to clear her voice before she can continue. “I know this wasn’t what either of us signed up for, but I guess that sometimes you need to... improvise. To adjust the plan, or just abandon it altogether and make a new one.” 

“Don’t tell me you’re not panicking,” he says, and to her relief, there is a trace of humor in his eyes. 

“Oh, I’m definitely panicking,” she says, smiling, and he smiles back. “But I’m saying that... We can try to make that plan. Together.” He moves closer to her, his left hand cups her cheek. 

“As for the details of that plan...” The skin of his hand feels like it is burning against hers. “What you just told me was pretty overwhelming. I’m going to need some time to figure this out. I obviously have a lot of baggage. Peter, and the press. The children. And then there is work, with you being my boss...” She wonders if she should tell him about Canning’s job offer, but decides against it. It’s not the right time. And he doesn’t need to know, unless she accepts the job offer. And she hasn’t made up her mind about that yet. 

“I know. His fingers interlace with hers. 

“I’m just asking you not to give up on me. To give me some time. Can you do that?” 

“Yeah,” he whispers, and somehow he has moved closer to her without her noticing, his lips are very nearly touching her ear now. 

“So let’s make a plan together. One step at a time.” 

“Okay,” he says. His hand trails lower, down her neck, across her collarbone. For a second she thinks it’s foreplay, but then his hand bypasses her breasts. 

* * *

**Him**

He touches the slight swelling of her belly. It’s covered by the fabric of the t-shirt she sleeps in, which is one of his, soft and thin from being washed hundreds of times. But he doesn’t want anything between the three of them. He pushes her t-shirt up, reveling in the softness and heat of her skin. She inhales shakily, then he can feel how her body relaxes under his hand. He looks up at her face, and sees the hint of a smile on her lips. 

She covers his hand with hers. 

“I _am_ interested, Will,” she murmurs. “I was interested back when you left me that voicemail I never got, too. But you’re not the only one who was scared.” She pauses. “I am still scared.” 

“I know,” he whispers back. 

They lie like that, close, with him lightly caressing her belly until he feels her drift off to sleep. Her body jerks a few times in his arms, her breathing deep and even. Finally he falls asleep, too. 

* * *

**Her**

She wakes up at 2:10 AM because she _really_ needs to pee. 

She knows a full night of uninterrupted sleep may not be in the cards for years. 

When she returns to bed, Will is still lying in the same position as when she got up to go to the bathroom - but now, she can just about see the city lights from outside reflected in his eyes. His body is solid and so warm, and his hands travel up underneath her – his – t-shirt, and she lifts her arms to help him take it off at the same time as she in one fluid movement sits astride his hips. Through the thin cotton of his boxer briefs, she can feel that he is half hard already. 

He switches on the lamp on the nightstand, and she blinks against the sudden and unexpected light. 

“I want to see you,” he explains. “And with my injury and all, I think I’m just going to have to lie back and let you do all the work.” He looks hungrily at her, first staring at her breasts, which are already somewhat fuller and with darker aureolae than before, then focuses on her black lace panties. 

“Works for me,” she says, her voice lower than usual. She leans forward, supporting herself with her hands on his chest. As her lips slowly gets closer to his, his eyes widen in surprise. “Be careful,” he says, his voice cracking, and she can feel how his hips buck under her, probably involuntary. 

“Because of your broken nose or because you’re afraid I’m going to vomit all over you?” She asks playfully. 

“Well, both,” he grimaces. 

“Because I’m feeling... good,” she breathes. “Very good, in fact. And I promise I’ll be very...” She places a feather-light kiss on his lips, making sure she tilts her head so her nose doesn’t get anywhere near his. “... careful.” She kisses him again – the kiss is longer this time, but still very light. Her tongue slips out, gently traces his lips, and he groans. 

“Looks like I can kiss now after all,” she murmurs, meeting his gaze. His pupils are so large his eyes look almost black. “I guess every pregnancy really is different, right?” 

“Thank God. I was dreading not being able to kiss you for the next seven months.” 

She looks down at him as she hovers a few inches above his face, her hair falling down like a curtain around her face, tickling him. He bucks underneath her again, but this time, she can tell he’s doing it on purpose. She can also tell that he is fully erect. 

“I told you that you were going to have to do all the work this time, right?” He says, and she laughs, sitting up. She watches as his face contorts in pleasure as her pelvis grinds against his hard length as she shifts her weight. He reaches out for her, placing both his hands on her breasts – lightly, carefully so he doesn’t hurt her, remembering this time that she is tender. He flicks his thumbs over her nipples, and something surges through her, right down to between her legs, her clit already throbbing. 

“Oh, my God,” she moans, and she watches him, how he looks underneath her - with dark eyes, flushed skin and his mouth half open. His hands trail lower, his right hand resting on her hip, while his left moves lower, between her legs, but staying on the outside of her panties, inspecting the fabric. 

“You’ve seeped through your panties already.” He says, his voice almost a growl. “For me.” 

“For you,” she assures him, although she is having a hard time forming a coherent sentence at all, because his fingers quickly and efficiently push the crotch of her panties aside, finding her wet and slippery and waiting for him. She whimpers as the pad of his thumb lightly grazes her clit. “I thought you said I was going to do all the work this time?” She is barely able to find enough air in her lungs to talk, because he is holding her clit between his thumb and her index finger – very, very lightly – and she can feel how she is pulsing, actually pulsing between his fingers, and all she can think is, I had no idea that was even possible. 

It’s so much, too much, too intense, and she quickly moves off of him, tearing her panties off without any finesse or even a hint of seduction, she just wants her underwear _off_. He chuckles as he sees how much in a hurry she is, and then she succeeds, and she immediately starts tearing at his boxer briefs, urging him to lift his hips to help her. 

When there is finally nothing to separate them, she sits back up, reaching between them to grab his cock, allowing it to rest in the seam between her folds. Then she moves, his cock gliding along her wetness, coating him in her fluids while stimulating her clit, and she cries out as he growls underneath her. 

“I can’t wait much longer,” he manages to grit out between clenched teeth, and normally, she’d tease him and draw it out, but she is just too worked up. She reaches between them again, this time helping him ease inside her. She is soaking wet and well prepared to take him, but she is also swollen and tender, and she moves carefully. Thankfully, he seems to understand – he doesn’t push up to bury himself in her more quickly, even though she can see from the tension in the tendons of his neck that it is taking everything he’s got. 

As she slowly takes him in, the feeling of him inside her is so overwhelming she throws her head back, eyes closed, as he fills her up. Finally, their hips are flush, and she can feel him throb inside her, hear how he growls something, she thinks it is something filthy, but she is too dazed to be sure. 

She straightens her back, opens her eyes and looks down at him, and she knows he is holding on for dear life, he is seconds from coming. And she won’t let him, not quite yet. She doesn’t move – she sits very still as she waits for him to regain control. 

After a while – she can’t tell whether it is half a minute or five – he swallows deeply and nods to her. She starts moving – slowly at first, then faster as his left thumb finds her clit and touches her relentlessly, just a tad too hard, not enough for it to actually hurt, but with more force than she would use herself. But it just makes everything feel even more intense, because Will knows exactly what he is doing, he knows her body so well by now. 

She knows this won’t last long, but still, the force of her orgasm takes her by surprise, it’s so sudden. She distantly feels that Will cums inside her, hears him cry out her name as his fingernails dig into the skin of her hips. 

She slumps down on his chest, her back bowed, her lips, nose and forehead touching his skin, which is slick with sweat. He is heaving underneath her. The back of his head is still digging into his pillow, his hands stroking her back as he pulls her down towards him, wants her to rest fully on his chest. 

“I love you too,” she whispers into his chest. She doesn’t dare to look up at him, and she is grateful that her hair, messy from sleep and sex, is mostly hiding her face. 

But she can tell from the surprised gasp and the way he pulls her close that he heard her. 


End file.
